Beacon
by cajolerisms
Summary: An on-going AU in which Obi-Wan discovers that nothing is what he thought it was. Ratings range from T  mild violence and language  to M  mature relationships and eventual more-than-mild violence . Please heed the ratings/notes in the individual chapters
1. Chapter 1

Title: Beacon: Detour

Author: Cajolerisms ()

Archive: master_apprentice, my own site eventually

Category: Alternate-Universe, Pre-Slash

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: war wounds and blood, language

Spoilers: If you're here and haven't seen Star Wars, then, well, uh...good luck with that.

Summary: The first step into a cracktastic AU in which Obi-wan's life has been pretty boring up until now.

Feedback: Ooh yes, give it to me baby.

Disclaimer: You know what, Mistah Lucas? If you let them have some fun every once in a while, we wouldn't have to do this. Everyone belongs to you.

Timeline:

Beacon begins two years before TPM.

Obi-Wan is 23, Qui-Gon is 58.

/Telepathy/

Beacon: Detour

"Change of plans, Padawan," Qui-Gon Jinn announced, studying the cruiser's communication console. "We're not going home yet."

His apprentice sighed heavily and settled into the copilot chair, scrubbing his face with his hands. "The last time you said that, our tour was extended three months."

"This one should be quick, Obi-Wan. We're taking a detour to Rothees to pick up a field team."

Obi-Wan Kenobi paused. The Force poked at him insistently. "Rothees? That's a warzone." This mission felt like it had the potential to run much longer than a quick grab-and-go.

"It is at that," his master nodded. "A team of two master-padawan pairs were sent in two months ago. According to the latest information we have, one of the masters is dead, the other master-padawan pair is wounded."

"Force," Obi-wan breathed. It was difficult situation for any Jedi, let alone a single padawan to shoulder. The Force jabbed at him again, an image of the Jedi crèche on Coruscant flittering past. These little messages from the Force were not uncommon for him, and this particular one made him uneasy. "Anybody we know?" he ventured.

Qui-Gon shook his head. "I doubt you know them, Padawan. They're based at the sister temple on Baltimn, but we and Coruscant are closer."

"Yes, Master."

Qui-Gon turned his gaze from the navcomputer to his apprentice. "Are you all right, Padawan?"

"I have a bad feeling about this, Master," Obi-Wan admitted.

Qui-Gon nodded, his sharp blue eyes becoming unfocused for a moment as he probed the Force. Whatever he found seemed to confirm Obi-Wan's trepidation. "We will be cautious, then. Go prepare the medical bay. We'll reach Rothees in four hours, and as soon as we land, we'll play shellhopper."

Rothees was a hellhole, Obi-Wan reflected. A hot, smoky hellhole. The landscape appeared charred and broken even before the entered the atmosphere. Every city and settlement they flew over was damaged in some way, many of them completely obliterated. Obi-Wan wondered if the remaining members of the field team were still alive at all. The last time anyone heard from them was nearly six days ago.

Since they were often assigned their own modest starship for these long tours in the field, the Jinn-Kenobi team found themselves acting as couriers for assorted supplies and bodies every few weeks between "real" missions. Years ago, Obi-Wan had named this particular tactic they were employing today the shellhopper, after the strange little gastropods in Qui-Gon's garden that stretched the front portion of its boneless body from plant to plant, with its shelled rear following with the rapid motion of a snapped rubber band.

Once they landed as close as they safely could to the last known coordinates of the missing field team, Qui-Gon had set out on foot supplied with a medical pack and his lightsaber. Obi-Wan's job was to sit and worry until he received a signal from his master to pick him and the team up at whatever updated coordinates Qui-Gon sent. They couldn't risk having their transport shot down, otherwise Obi-Wan would have preferred that they perform scan sweeps over the area. The uneasy feeling he had in hyperspace had grown stronger, and the idea of Qui-Gon venturing into an active warzone on foot with no one to watch his back made Obi-Wan's stomach twist.

He gave their training bond a gentle nudge and was glad to feel it open. /Tahl will have my ass if you get yourself killed, Master./

/She'll have mine too. Therefore, I do, in fact, plan on not dying,/ Qui-Gon sent back. /Their presence is faint, but it's getting stronger. They're still alive./

/Be careful,/ Obi-Wan sent as he felt Qui-Gon's concentration focus elsewhere and their bond close again.

For the next painfully long three hours, Obi-Wan busied himself double-checking the equipment in the medical bay. They had no sense of what specific injuries to prepare for, so Obi-Wan sure everything was prepped. Next he ran all the pre-flight checks again to make sure the ship would be up in the air as soon as Qui-Gon sent the signal. Finally, he settled back into the pilot's chair and proofread the last five mission reports that they would need to file with the Council upon their return. The presence of the closed bond told him Qui-Gon was alive and probably uninjured. Obi-Wan would sense the momentary break in concentration from the pain of injury, so he had to satisfy himself with the knowledge that his master was in one piece for the time being.

Suddenly, sound and movement filled his head as the bond burst open. At the same moment, the computer pinged in response to an incoming message.

/GO TIME!/ Qui-Gon sent. /HURRY./

Obi-Wan had the ship in the air before he even registered Qui-Gon's mental voice. The fastest way to the new location would be to stay low to not lose precious seconds building altitude, only to drop down again. Gritting his teeth, Obi-Wan swerved past crumbling towers and charred trees. The ship whined in protest, not built for rapid atmospheric maneuvering.

"Hold together, sweetheart," Obi-Wan growled. "Just a little furth—"

He threw a hard right to avoid the blast from a mounted cannon. With a surge of the Force, he pushed the ship back on course. No time to engage now. The coordinates Qui-Gon sent centered on what looked to be the blackened remains of a warehouse, fast approaching in the ship's view screen. Qui-Gon's presence flared across the bond, and Obi-Wan picked up the signatures of three other Force users.

/South side of the building. We'll need your help out here./

Obi-Wan brought the ship down on the far side of the warehouse, as close are he could maneuver to the only entrance. A cannon blast shook a piece of wall loose, which fell and crumbled a few yards from the ship's nose. As soon as the landing gear hit the dirt, he was down the still-lowering ramp, lightsaber ready.

The door burst open to the sight of a young Iridonian, wide-eyed and dirty, with a semi-conscious man leaning heavily on his shoulder. Past him, Qui-Gon knelt over a smaller person on a makeshift stretcher, tucking his robe around the still form. Obi-Wan lifted the stretcher with Qui-Gon and followed the Iridonian padawan up the ramp. Leaving his master and the other padawan in the medical bay to secure their passengers, Obi-Wan ran back to the cockpit. The reverberations of cannon blasts were getting closer.

"Strap in!" He shouted, the ship shuddering against Rothee's gravity as he pushed their trajectory to avoid the cannons. It rocked violently against a blast that hit its rear shielding, eliciting a colorful exclamation across the training bond. /Not much further, Master./ "Just a little more," Obi-Wan pleaded to the ship.

With a final push, the ship broke out of Rothee's gravity. Obi-Wan let out the breath he forgot he was holding. He checked the ship's readings. The mechanics were not going to be happy with him. The Force was still sending him that same tickling at the edges of his perception that told him to stay alert. He set up the hyperspace jump and engaged the autopilot, and quickly made his way aft to check on the passengers. The padawan that he and Qui-Gon had brought on the stretcher was still unconscious beneath a thin medical blanket. Obi-wan saw that Qui-Gon had attached oxygen and a fluid line, and was in the process of strapping him in for the hyperspace jump. The sooner they made the jump the better; the sickly palor of the human padawan's complexion looked bad.

The master was awake now, cursing fluently in Huttese as the Iridonian padawan cleaned an angry-looking wound at his shoulder that extended down to his elbow. The older man's long black hair has plastered against his pale neck with sweat, but his eyes were clear and focused. He turned to the sound of Obi-Wan's steps. "Ah, and this must be your padawan."

Qui-Gon smiled slightly. "Master Cri'jenchi, Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi,"

"Master Cri'jenchi," Obi-Wan murmured in greeting, bowing his head. "How do you feel?"

"In need of a drink," was the brusque reply, followed by something in Huttese again as the Iridonian sprayed antiseptic on the wound. "Lords and fire, Mal, warn a man next time!"

"Sorry," replied the Iridonian named Mal, not seeming the least bit so. He finished spraying the affected area, ignoring the master's protests. Then he placed his fingers at Cri'jenchi's temple and said, "Sleep."

The master's eyes instantly rolled back in his head at the suggestion and his body slumped unconscious into Mal's arms. Mal eased him onto the bench and covered him with a blanket, followed by the soft, wide safety straps. At Obi-Wan's arched eyebrow, his response was matter of fact, "Well, we can't drug him, and he'd just hurt himself otherwise."

Qui-Gon patted Mal on the back. "I trust your judgment on the matter, Padawan Farol," he turned to Obi-Wan. "Are we ready for the jump?"

"Yes, Master. It should be a smooth ride through hyperspace. We'll see how the lift engines hold up after that retreat," Obi-Wan replied, casting a worried glance at the unconscious padawan, who was beginning to sweat. Dried blood darkened his pale hair. "How is he?"

"Stable for now. He needs the healers soon, though."

"I'll take us in, now that everyone is secure."

"Excellent," his master stood to follow him to the cockpit. "Padawan Farol, I'll send Obi-Wan to relieve you once we're in hyperspace."

Leaving Qui-Gon in the cockpit to compile the mission report, Obi-Wan made a stop in the galley for their last ration of field bars. Mal Farol was not much of a talker, Obi-Wan found, though he could hardly hold it against the other padawan after what he'd been through. After the immediate task of securing their injured passengers was finished, the energy seemed to have drained from him completely. He sat next to his fellow padawan's medical couch, frowning at the sensors' readouts. The only sounds in the medical bay was the soft crinkling of the field bar wrappers and the worrisome beeping of the unconscious padawan's medical sensors. Mal's hands shook slightly as he ate.

"Have you ever been to Coruscant?" Obi-Wan ventured after a while.

"A long time ago," Mal replied hoarsely between slow bites. He looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks. His drawn features and the sadness in his dark eyes made him seem old, though he could not have been any older than Obi-Wan himself.

"Well, don't worry," Obi-Wan offered him a smile. "You're master will be fine. His injury is not life-threatening."

Mal turned to face him then, for the first time since Obi-Wan had come in. His eyes were very bright. "Master Cri'jenchi is not my master," he said quietly.

"Oh," Obi-Wan was stricken. "Oh Force, Mal, I'm so sorry."

"You didn't know," it wasn't much more than a whisper now. Mal turned back to his field bar, suddenly interested in the nutrition stats.

"I…um," Obi-Wan stammered. "We're still eight hours away from Coruscant. Let me show you where you can lay down for a while."

Mal followed Obi-Wan wordlessly through the small ship until they came to one of two cabins. Obi-Wan cleared a datapad and some field gear from the bunk. Mal stood hesitantly at the door, "This is your room? I shouldn't-"

"It's fine, Mal," Obi-Wan gestured at the bunk. "You need the rest far more than I do."

When Mal made no move to enter, Obi-Wan gently took him by the elbow, leading him into the tiny room. Once he had Mal settled, Obi-Wan asked gently, "Do you need help?"

Mal nodded. Obi-Wan knelt beside the other padawan, fingers resting on his dry, cool temple beneath the crown of boney horns. Grief and fatigue weakened his defenses. Obi-wan sensed every muscle, exhausted but tense, in the smaller body. Mal's shields were shaky, but Obi-Wan gave them a polite nudge anyway. They opened easily, allowing Obi-Wan to send the suggestion /sleep/. Mal's eyes closed and his body went limp.

Obi-Wan sat with Mal, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. Obi-Wan's own chest felt strangely tight. Life as a Jedi made him no stranger to suffering and death, but for Mal to lose his master and still have to fight for his life and those of two fallen compatriots on that mess of a planet was heartbreaking. Obi-Wan stood and headed back to the medical bay.

Qui-Gon found him sitting at the entrance of the medical bay, uneaten field bar in hand. "Where's Padawan Farol?"

"I put him to sleep in my cabin an hour ago," Obi-Wan replied. "I didn't realize it was his master who died."

"Ah," Qui-Gon pulled a seat next to his apprentice. "I wondered about that guilt in the bond. Was he offended?"

"No, I don't think so," Obi-Wan said, setting the unopened ration on the table. "I hope he'll be all right."

Qui-Gon rested a comforting hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Oh I'm sure he will. Death is as much part of the Force as living. We orphans get adopted fairly quickly, and I believe Mal is near his trials anyway. If this mission was any indicator, he has the makings of a fine knight."

Obi-Wan turned in surprise. Qui-Gon rarely spoke of his first master. "Do you miss Master Dooku, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Not as much as you might think. We were only paired for a year when he died, and in the long run, I think Yoda and I were a better match," Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan's padawan braid an affectionate tug.

Obi-Wan sighed. "I was thinking about what happened to Mal. I don't know if I could be that strong if I was in the same position."

Qui-Gon turned Obi-Wan's shoulders so that they were face-to-face. "I know you would, Obi-Wan," he smiled, pulling the younger man into a tight hug. "But I don't plan on dying anytime soon, so tough luck getting out of our partnership. The only way you're getting rid of me is when you get knighted."

Obi-Wan soaked in the comfort of his master's solid body and the warm presence across the training bond. He let out a weak chuckle. "Always trying to get rid of me, Master."

"Someday, padawan-mine, you'll be a knight with an apprentice of your own, travelling the galaxy with a bright, eager student soaking up everything you have to teach them. It's only when you lack the opportunities that you'll appreciate the wonders of regular sex."

"Master!" Obi-Wan exclaimed in mock horror. Qui-Gon laughed. "I really don't need to know what you and Tahl do with your down time."

"No you don't," Qui-Gon agreed. "But it's one of the perks of being a master to torment your students with implications. Now," his smile fell away as he stood. "Come help me with our patient. It'll go faster with two."

Beneath the papery medical blanket, were lengths of cut pipe running along the padawan's side from his armpit to his tattered boot, their ends melted and charred from a lightsaber, and another from his groin along his inner leg, all immobilizing a badly broken femur. They were tied around his shattered leg with strips of what looked like a field tunic, now long stained with dirt and blood. Someone had cut away most of his pants to access the damage, which was vividly bruised in blotches of yellow and purple.

"This is the worst of it, but his pelvis is broken also. Caught in the blast radius of one of those cannons," Qui-Gon explained, pulling away a bandage that was already soaked in draining fluid. Obi-Wan hissed in sympathy at the revealed flesh wounds. It was a wonder he hadn't died of infection already. Obi-Wan handed Qui-Gon fresh bandages and disposed of the soiled ones, administering a new dose of antibiotics to the fluid drip as his master redressed the wounds.

Qui-Gon left Obi-Wan in the medical bay to check in on Mal and to finish the mission report. Obi-Wan settled into his chair, keeping an eye on the monitoring equipment. Thankfully, Master Cri'jenchi's Force-induced sleep was deep. His vitals were strong and other than the blast wound and the broken clavicle that would need resetting, the master was doing well. His fair-haired padawan's temperature was dropping, but by tortuous increments. Hopefully, he would wake up on his own.

Obi-Wan had nearly drifted into a meditative trance when the Force shook him out. Blinking, he realized the padawan's eyes were open and looking around in a daze. He took a hand in his, and said softly, "Hey, it's okay. You're safe."

"Where-?"

"You're on a ship bound for Coruscant. Don't worry, your master is well. Mal is well. They're both sleeping."

"Master…Mal…" the padawan croaked. His face crumpled in despair, "Londra!"

Obi-Wan made soft shushing noises and found a cloth to wet and wipe the padawan's sweat-soaked face. "Londra's Mal's master?" the young man nodded. Obi-Wan continued with the cloth, which seemed to calm him. "Londra is with the Force now. Your master and Mal are safe. All will be well."

The padawan seemed satisfied enough with that for now. His eyes fluttered closed again, though his brow remained tightly furrowed.

"I'm sorry I can't give you anything for the pain," Obi-Wan apologized, rewetting the cloth and dabbing gently at his fellow padawan's neck. "We'll be out of hyperspace soon and the healers will take you first thing."

"'S'okay," he hissed. "Used to it."

"How long?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Dunno…two weeks… more…passing out," the padawan replied through gritted teeth.

Obi-Wan inwardly balked. With an open fracture left untreated in the heat and Force-knows-what contaminating the air on Rothees, it really was a miracle he was still breathing. Outwardly, he kept talking and bathing, trying to keep the padawan awake and comfortable. He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Qui-Gon called him through the bond.

/We'll be out of hyperspace in ten. I have Mal helping me. How are they?/

/Master Cri'jenchi is still out. His padawan is awake, but in bad shape./

/We'll be there soon. The lift engines are going to burn out. Our descent is going to be rough. Be prepared./

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth and secured the strap across the other padawan's chest. /Yes, Master./

Their exit from hyperspace rattled the ship, tipping over several containers on the table. The padawan let out a pain-filled cry, his grip tightening on Obi-Wan's hand. Obi-Wan murmured more comforting nonsense to him, touching fingers to his temple to ease some of the pain into the Force. Obi-Wan could feel their shift into Coruscant's gravity well, and with the state the ship was in, the landing would be bumpy at best. The padawan's eyes were shut tight as the rumbling increased and he felt the pull of planetary gravity crushing his broken body.

"Almost there, almost there," Obi-Wan soothed over the noise of their entrance into the atmosphere. "Breath. You can do this."

The rattling eased as the ship slowed its decent, cruising more comfortably in its slow course to the main hangar in the Temple. The padawan, however, groaned weakly. Obi-Wan glanced up to see blood seeping up through the blanket covering his lower body. A glance back at his face told Obi-Wan that he was close to passing out. Fuck.

"Master! Mal!" Obi-Wan shouted. He dropped the hand he was holding and pulled the blanket aside. The bandages were soaked with blood. Something must have ruptured from the strain of the descent. Swearing under his breath, Obi-Wan probed with the Force until he found the source of the bleeding, and pressed his hands over the wound, feeling unhealed fragments of bone shift beneath him. Double fuck.

Then Mal was there, shouting vehemently at the other padawan to stay awake and engaging the medical bench's adjuster to elevate the foot end.

With one final shudder, the ship docked. Obi-Wan vaguely heard the ramp hiss open and his master's voice shouting for the medics. His focus was on the thick red blood soaking sluggishly into his shirt sleeves and the traitorous vessels in his fellow padawan's mangled leg.

"Bruck! We're here," Mal said, his voice wavering. He took the padawan's limp hand in his. "Stay with me, Bruck. It's Mal, stay with me. It's going to be all right. Please stay with me."

Obi-Wan froze. The memory of a boy long-forgotten to Agricorps hit him, forcing the air from his lungs. The medics rushed in then, pushing Obi-Wan aside, transferring the unconscious padawan to a gurney and rushing him down the entry ramp, another followed a moment later bearing his master. Qui-Gon's voice brought him back to his senses enough to wipe the blood from his hands and follow the remainder of their ragged party onto the landing platform, mind racing.

Bruck Chun.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Digging Up Worms

Author: Cajolerisms ()  
Archive: master_apprentice, my own site eventually  
Category: Alternate-Universe, non Q/O, Action/Adventure  
Rating: PG-13  
Warnings: Qui-Gon and Tahl living in domesticity. Sorry.  
Spoilers: If you're here and haven't seen Star Wars, then, well, uh...good luck  
with that.  
Summary: The second part in the Beacon series. Obi-Wan follows up on his last mission. Things are getting curiouser and curiouser.

Feedback: Ooh yes, give it to me baby.  
Disclaimer: You know what, Mistah Lucas? If you let them have some fun every  
once in a while, we wouldn't have to do this. Everyone belongs to you.

Timeline:  
Beacon begins two years before TPM.  
Obi-Wan is 23 and Qui-Gon is 58.

1. Detour

2. Digging Up Worms

/Telepathy/

Home. Thank the Force.

The padawan quarters this evening were as loud as ever. Common rooms blared with the sound of music, holos, and laughter of the senior padawans and young knights currently stationed in-Temple. Any other time, Obi-Wan would have been glad to spend his night catching up with his agemates, but tonight, exhaustion dragged at his heals and demanded uncompromisingly a long rendezvous with his bed.

The roster told him Garen was in-Temple, though he was not surprised to find his suite empty. Everyone in his age group looked to be gathered around the broadcast of the latest slamball tournament.

Obi-Wan made quick work of his pack, dumping most of it into the cleaning unit. Without pause, he began to strip off his uniform to join the rest of his gear down the chute. Cloak and boots went first, followed by socks. Obi-Wan allowed a moment to wriggle his toes in the carpet before setting his utility belt aside to be emptied later.

The stained tunic and trousers, however, were removed slowly. Obi-Wan was not so naïve or romantic to wax philosophical over blood, but wearing clothes heavily stained in another Jedi's blood while in-Temple was not something he had ever done, nor something he ever wanted to repeat. The battle-worn clothing's stiffness and coppery smell were familiar, but their presence in this room surrounded by his and his friends' dorms, lingering Force signatures familiar and soothing, bordered on obscene.

More troubling, even, was that the blood had come from Bruck Chun.

Obi-Wan had barely thought about the other padawan in the last ten years, initially ecstatic over becoming Qui-Gon's padawan, and later, the childhood rivalry had faded away like his fear of banthas and dislike of blue vegetables. Like everyone else, he had assumed Bruck's disappearance simply meant he had been sent to Agricorps, too ashamed to say goodbye, as many others had before him. Then suddenly, there he was, pale hair and gray eyes all the same, but instead of sneering or mocking, this Bruck Chun was a grim-faced young man who was ill and hurt from a failed mission to the nightmare warzone of Rothees.

Qui-Gon had very clearly said that their mission was to rescue a master and two padawans, and that they were based on the Temple on Baltimn. There was Master Cri'jenchi and Padawan Mal Farol, and Padawan Bruck Chun. The whole concept was confounding. Why for all the stars did Bruck Chun go to Baltimn for his apprenticeship?

Red light flashed through his vision. The hum and crash of lightsabers in battle rang in his ears. The smell of smoke and blood filled his sinuses. Fear anger vengeance darkness death suffering black red—

"Enough for today!" he snapped out loud. "Can I not just shower and go to bed?"

The vision subsided, leaving Obi-Wan standing naked in his suite's common room, rubbing his eyes and muttering about prescience needing captions.

Taking down terrorist cells and rescuing aristocrats at the side of the legendary Qui-Gon Jinn may be building him a strong reputation in the Temple and with the movers and shakers in the Republic, but few things compared to the bliss of a long, hot shower, or a fresh nerfburger after weeks of field rations.

Obi-Wan stood dressed in old, blessedly clean clothes, his hair still damp from the best shower of his life, feeling infinitely better. He had barely finished dialing up something hot and dead in the suite's kitchen when the door hissed open.

"Holy shit, look who fell out of the sky!" Obi-Wan put his burger down just in time to be swallowed in a crushing hug by what looked, and felt, like a small cruiser in Jedi tunics.

"Hey Garen," he gasped. "Good to see you too."

When he could breathe again, Obi-Wan held his friend at arm's length. Garen's imposing stature took nothing away from the warm smile stretching across his face. "Finally landed, huh?" After being fully certified to fly military crafts last year, Jedi Ace Garen Muln was in high demand and rarely had his feet on the ground anymore.

His friend sighed dramatically. "Just barely. I've been on a string of missions for eight months straight, so I'm overdue for some time off. I did exactly the same thing you're doing now when I landed this morning, except it was hotcakes."

Obi-Wan laughed. "Qui-Gon and I have been gone nearly as long, so you won't mind if I go back to destroying this nerf."

"By all means," Garen made quick strides to the cold storage and held aloft a pair of dark ale bottles. "I think I'll join you."

They ate quickly, their chins and fingers dripping with fat. Finally, Garen sat back with a satisfied sigh and wiped his hands on a napkin. Obi-Wan stuffed the last piece of meat into his mouth and chewed slowly. Shower, Nerf, Ale, and one of his best friends: life was wizard.

"Are you still in the dorms, Knight Muln?" he asked eventually between sips of appropriately strong ale. A light hum was settling in nicely despite his heavy meal, aided by fatigue and months of forced abstinence.

"Yeah," Garen replied. "They shipped me out so fast, I didn't have time to find allocations in the Knights' Wing."

"Well, seeing that we're both in-Temple for a few weeks now, I'm happy to help you move."

"So eager to get rid of me, Padawan Kenobi!" Garen exclaimed with mock horror. "Can't stand sharing a wall with a sex god?"

Obi-Wan started and choked on his ale, making Garen sputter as well. "A sex god, he says!" Obi-Wan whooped, wiping his streaming eyes. "In what interplanetary language of love does 'ow oops sorry ow' mean 'oh yes don't stop?'"

Garen groaned. "One time! I can't live down that one time! There have been many successes since then, you know."

Obi-Wan chortled. No one could make his sides hurt like Garen. Yes, life was indeed wizard. "Well," he managed, holding his ale bottle in salute. "Here's to your divine love nest, home again to the galaxy's horniest pilot."

Garen knocked his bottle on the table emphatically. "And that's saying something!" he crowed, downing the last of his drink.

Obi-Wan laughed and tipped back his ale. It was good to be home.

The next morning found him sitting in the medical hall, watching Bruck Chun floating in a tank of bacta. Surgical incisions and skin grafts covered much of his right leg and pelvis, and the light immobilizing structure told of bone and muscle grafting. Obi-Wan flexed his left hand in sympathy. Heavy tissue replacement was not an easy thing to recover from, though far preferable to the alternative.

He looked up into the other padawan's still face, recognizing the contour of his nose and strong jaw line, now more pronounced and devoid of any baby fat. There was the faint shadow of an old scar breaking the symmetry of Bruck's eyebrows.

The body, though partially obscured by the orthopedic scaffolding and softened with injury, was well-built and muscled. Obi-wan recognized the muscle tone and development, heavy-set and balanced. It was not the fitness of someone casually athletic or sculpted out of vanity, or even of a farm laborer, but of a fighter.

In all actuality, there had been little in terms of skill or strength that separated them as initiates, which had fed their rivalry. True, Obi-Wan had better lightsaber skills, but Bruck was superior at unarmed combat. No one would have been surprised if either of them, or neither of them, were chosen. It all depended on the will of the Force, and the masters.

"He's alive thanks to you."

Obi-Wan turned to see Master Cri'jenchi walking toward him, dressed in dark civilian clothing with his arm in a sling.

"Good morning, Master," he stood and bowed.

Bruck's master waved his hand dismissively, smiling. "Enough of that, Padawan. Qui-Gon's obviously been keeping you in the diplomatic circuit for too long, bowing like that at this early in the morning."

"That is not for me to say, Master," Obi-Wan replied. Cri'jenchi, for all his high cheekbones and dazzling smile, gave him the same feeling of unease as most politicians and dignitaries did.

"That's what I'm talking about," Cri'jenchi said, settling into the chair beside Obi-Wan's. "It'd be a shame to see such a good field operative such as you spend his life as a Consular."

Obi-Wan bristled slightly. "My master and I are both trained Guardians, though his lifemate is a Consular and a superb Jedi."

Cri'jenchi started, his blue eyes wide. "Lifemate?" a look of delight spread across his face. "Forgive my rudeness, Padawan. Would that be Master Tahl?"

"Yes, actually," Obi-Wan said in surprise. "Do you know her?"

He grinned. "From many years ago." He muttered something to himself, utterly bemused. "My apologies, Padawan Kenobi, I am being rude. I came to see Bruck, and since you're here lat me thank you for helping Bruck. The healers say he'll make a full recovery, but it will take some time."

"That's good to hear," Obi-Wan gave him his best neutral smile. "How long will you be on Coruscant?"

"As long as we need to. I can't say where the wind will blow us once Bruck is back on his feet."

They sat there for a few minutes, Cri'jenchi and Obi-Wan both separately watching Bruck float in the bacta, the quiet of the medical hall broken by the steady beeping of the monitoring equipment and the brisk footfalls of healers along the walkways. Abruptly, the master rose, smoothing a strand of long, dark hair back behind his ear. "I have an errand to run in the city. If Mal stops by, tell him I'll see him this afternoon."

"Yes, Master Cri'jenchi," Obi-Wan said quickly, confused.

The master slipped silently out the door. Obi-Wan sat back in his chair, pondering. Master Cri'jenchi seemed nice enough, if not a bit scattered and lacking in decorum. There was something about him when he smiled, however, that spoke of deeper motives lingering beneath the surface. Obi-Wan looked back at Bruck, wondering what the other padawan was like now with such an unorthodox master.

His thoughts were interrupted by the harried clicking of many feet on the walkway. A six-legged sauvax healer, flushed red and orange with agitation, appeared in the doorway. "Padawan, was Master Cri'Jenchi here?"

"Yes, Healer. He just left, said he was going into the city."

"He discharged himself!" growled the healer in exasperation. "Impossible human!"

Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile as the healer scuttled away in a huff. Qui-Gon reacted much the same way to the healers.

Eventually, the healer came back and shooed him out, saying visiting time was over and clicking his massive pincers in irritation. Obi-Wan spent the rest of the morning back in his dorm, catching up on messages and browsing through class listings, signing up for two he needed that would start the next week. Garen was off somewhere making trouble, and while Tahl was more or less a permanent fixture in the Archives, Bant's absence on the roster could only mean that Tahl's padawan was out in the field with Clee Rhara.

A quick peek told him that his training bond with Qui-Gon was tightly shielded. With their rare downtime, and after what Qui-Gon had half-jokingly said on their last mission said about finding opportunities for regular sex, Obi-Wan had little doubt that an inquiring prod would not be welcome in the least.

With a sigh, Obi-Wan set out to find a meditation spot. This time of day, most of the good outdoor ones would be commandeered by the initiate clans out in the gardens for their lessons. He would have to be more creative.

The lower levels of the Temple were quiet and nearly empty as usual. Obi-Wan made his way to an old meditation room he had found a few years ago, unpopular for its remote location, but otherwise lovely with an expansive window and rippling pool.

As he approached, he felt the muted presence of another Jedi in meditation. He rounded the doorway to find Mal Farol kneeling at the foot of the pool. The other padawan looked much better than the last time Obi-Wan had seen him, bewildered and led gently away by healers on the landing platform. Minus a thick layer of dirt and dressed in clean tunics, Mal was quite handsome, Obi-Wan found. The slight upturn in his nose and full mouth were a charming contrast to the sharp jaw. Faint tattoos ran along his brow and cheeks, subtle against his copper skin.

Obi-Wan had met only a couple Zabraks in all of his travels, and never a Zabrak Jedi. Most Iridonian Jedi were from the northern continents, where the various ethnic groups were much more open to outsiders and to giving the children to the Jedi. Unlike the northern Iridonians in the Order, with their heavy brow plates and thick hair, Mal's short horns grew around his skull in a delicate crown. A string of beads hung from one near his right ear to mark his apprenticeship, a common practice for the humanoid species that didn't grow hair.

Mal's eyes flew open. "Can I help you?"

"I don't mean to disturb you, I was just looking for a meditation spot," Obi-Wan explained quickly. "The gardens are overrun with younglings." He explained ruefully. "How are you?"

"Well enough."

Obi-Wan gestured to the spot beside Mal. "May I? I'm sorry about your master," he added quietly.

Mal shifted over. "She died like a Jedi," he said when Obi-Wan was on his knees. "There is no sadness in that."

"That's a good way of looking at it. But that doesn't mean you can't miss her."

"I know." His eyes closed again. "I felt her presence in the Force."

Seeing that Mal wasn't going to say more, Obi-Wan began to sink into his own meditation. His mind of late had been cluttered with questions about his last mission, not to mention his visions were becoming more vivid. He felt his body relax and his awareness turned away from the body beside him and the pool before him. He was a breath in the air. He was a heartbeat. He was the warmth of the sunbeam.

He was running. Running from. He was down and something was over him. Red black vengeance anger. He couldn't breath. Smoke. Heat. Cold. Dark.

He was on the floor, gasping and blinking into Mal Farol's dark, worried eyes.

"What was that?" Mal asked.

"You saw it too?" Obi-Wan rasped.

Mal took him by the wrists and pulled him up until he was sitting. "Saw what? I felt something that tells me I should be worried."

Obi-Wan coughed and rubbed his face. "It's a vision. I can't tell what it's about or when it will happen." His heart was pounding and his hands were shaking with nervous energy. That had felt positively real. "Shit, I need to work this off," he turned to Mal. "Did the healers clear you to spar?"

They had found an empty practice room and by the time they ran through a few warm-up katas, Obi-Wan's focus was back. Obi-Wan noted that Mal's form was solid, but was soon disappointed when their sabers met and Mal stuck solidly in defensive Soresu. While effective in prolonged engagements with blasters, Mal's form did little against Obi-Wan's Ataru, with its aerials and rapid attacks. Tired of beating against Mal like a bird flapping against a stone wall, Obi-Wan eventually settled for one last rapid attack to drive Mal back. With a high somersault, Obi-Wan flipped over Mal and knocked his feet out from under him.

Lying prone and panting on the mat, sweat plastered Mal's thin practice shirt to his torso, contouring the impressive planes of his chest and tight abdomen. Obi-Wan was infinitely glad his own disheveled appearance hid the surge of arousal that rushed through him at the sight.

He offered a hand and pulled Mal to his feet. He was heavier than he looked. "Your defensive form is very solid, but-"

"But?"

"You could have pushed," Obi-Wan said bluntly.

Mal looked unperturbed. "There's not much use in the field for anything other than Soresu when you do use a lightsaber."

The wording caught Obi-Wan short. "When? The lightsaber is the primary weapon for the Jedi!"

"A Jedi is not his lightsaber," Mal replied. He clipped his lightsaber to his belt and began his cool-down routine.

Obi-Wan frowned, though he followed suit and began his own cool-down. He'd never met a padawan so casual about lightsaber use—not one who made it through to the Trials, anyway. "Mastery of the forms brings us greater knowledge and control of the Force."

"So does meditation," Mal retorted, making Obi-Wan's frown deepen. "I personally like to keep in one piece on a mission rather than impress my opponents with something shiny."

Obi-Wan paused to wipe the sweat from his face with his sleeve, and certainly not to catch a better view of Mal Farol stretching his hamstrings. "You don't use your saber in the field?"

"Of course I do. I cut some pipes to splint Bruck's leg."

"You know what I mean."

Mal straightened and flashed Obi-Wan a disarming smile. It was as attractive as Master Cri'jenchi's had been unsettling. "I prefer methods that are less flashy. I presume your field work is very different from mine."

"You don't do diplomacy," Obi-Wan replied sardonically, pointedly ignoring the sudden flip his stomach decided to perform. "I can count on both hand the times Master Qui-Gon and I have had to conceal our sabers," he admitted.

Mal chuckled. "No, not diplomacy," but he did not elaborate.

After a moment, Obi-Wan asked, "What do you use then?"

"Everything," Mal said simply. "Well, almost everything. Most energy weapons are just as conspicuous as a lightsaber."

"Is this practice usual on Baltimn?"

"I wouldn't say usual. My impression is the training on Baltimn is more... flexible to our individual strengths."

Obi-Wan considered the other padawan for a moment. "What are yours?"

"Melee weapons, including lightsaber-just not dueling."

Obi-Wan wasn't sure if Mal was taking a jab at the Coruscant Academy or not. Well, he wasn't a senate-appointed Diplomat of the Republic for nothing. "All Jedi who are certified field-ready here have at least an intermediate level of proficiency with a blaster and two hand weapons in addition to the lightsaber."

"The requirements on Baltimn are the same."

"So what is your level of expertise?"

"Intermediate on about a dozen blunt and flail weapons. Expert on the blaster and pole weapons, though my focus is mainly on weighted staffs," he counted off several impressive weapons on his fingers. "And mastery on various knives."

Obi-Wan's jaw dropped. "Mastery? How old are you?"

"Twenty," Mal looked amused as Obi-Wan's eyes widened noticeably. "Like I said, individual strengths."

Obi-Wan gaped. So much for diplomacy. "Would you mind a demonstration?"

Mal's smile took on a predatory air. "Sure."

It was the work of a few minutes to find the Battlemaster Cin Drallig and convince him to set up a practice run in the Battle Room. By the time Master Drallig unlocked the training armory and set up racks at either end of the Battle Room with an assortment of weapons, a small crowd of padawans, knights, and not a few masters had gathered before Master Drallig shooed them away, joining Obi-Wan in the shielded viewing area.

The Battle Room ran nearly forty yards in length and two-thirds the width. It was equipped with any number of battle-ready droids, cannons, lifts, and other obstacles that appeared through hidden compartments according to the training program's setting, or in this case, Master Drallig's controls. Unlike the other training facilities in the temple, the floor, walls, and catwalks were marred with scorches and impact scars, and several support cables looked like they were ready to give way from the stresses of previous training sessions. The cumulative effect was an unsettling visual and chaotic Force signature noticeable to anybody with enough Force training to enter the room in the first place.

"Enhances the user experience," the Battlemaster had explained with a menacing grin.

Mal, dressed still in light practice gear and now a pair of gloves, regarded his inventory with an appraising eye, checking knife edges and testing the weight of several other larger pieces before settling for a pair of daggers and a wooden two-part staff tucked into his belt. Obi-Wan noted with interest that Mal elected for one of his weaker weapons rather than focusing on blades, or even a straight staff. When Mal seemed satisfied, he nodded his readiness to the Battlemaster and took his stance in the middle of the room.

Any conversation Obi-Wan might have attempted with Master Drallig was silenced by eight destroyers rolled in from the left. With no lightsaber to deflect their blasts, Mal's practice run would be either very interesting or very short. He dodged their first round of shots with a Force-assisted jump to the catwalks above, running inches ahead of the blasts that shot through the grates like they were nothing. Then with a somersault, he was on top of one destroyer and had it sparking and sputtering before Obi-Wan had even seen him draw his knife. A second destroyer fell similarly, taking his dagger with it.

By then, the other droids had turned on him. Mal toppled them with a Force Push, which bought him enough time to run into a squad of gel-filled, mounted dummies meant to simulate live troops. His staff connected in a wide arc as he arched impossibly backwards to avoid their blasters. The speakers in the viewing area filled with the sickening crunch of simulated bone. The remaining troops circled him. One managed to glance his leg with a shot. The staff flew again, knocking blasters out of reach. Mal was a blur of movement, each strike connecting, each thrust of his remaining blade slicking the floor with viscous gel.

The destroyer droids were programmed to attack only the set target, now pressing forward as the last dummy trooper fell. The silence that had weighed in the viewing area gave way to Obi-Wan's sharp inhalation as Mal raced headlong into the storm of blaster shots.

The two-part staff flew, absorbing the closest shots and sending splinters flying. He had halfway closed the gap between him and the droids by the time nothing remained of the staff but a hand-span of chain. The remaining dagger went flying into the central destroyer, allowing Mal to use his momentum to propel himself over the deactivated droid and race for the arms rack.

Obi-Wan vaguely registered a modified Jar'Kai and Soresu combination as Mal dived back into the fray with a pair of broadswords. The metal swords were not built to withstand blaster shots, and dented and warped with each bolt they took, completely ineffective at returning shots. Not that it mattered to Mal, it seemed. He dodged most of the shots, using the swords to block the ones that were unavoidable. When he was in close range, a huge surge of the Force built and rippled through the shielded facility as Mal cleanly sliced two droids in half. Three left.

Another Force push bought him enough time to cut off the shooting arms of one, his sword now heated beyond use. Or not, apparently, as Mal swung back and slammed the flat of the super-heated blade onto the motion sensors of an oncoming destroyer, blinding it and sending sparks flying in all directions. Without a trigger available, he used the Force to shoot off several shots from the severed blaster into his two handicapped destroyers. The last droid was taken out likewise.

Master Cin Drallig, who had silently helmed the controls until now, barked out a quick laugh. From the ceiling came a dozen ominously humming blast drones, each capable of shooting three or four blasts at a time in different directions while floating well out of range of Mal's remaining sword. The padawan studied the new threat for a moment, and even managed to send the Battlemaster a withering glare before setting for the rack at a dead sprint.

The remaining weapons included a set of small throwing blades and Mal's preferred long staff with weighted butts at either end. He took two blades in each hand and sent them flying on an assisted trajectory toward the high ceiling. The blades whistled through the air, each taking out a drone and arcing back into his grip, but there were still too many and already Mal had to take cover under the thick shell of a droid to avoid the storm of blaster bolts.

If Mal was waiting for the drones to use up their power supplies, Cin Drallig wasn't having it. The floor surged upwards as the terrain settings changed. Mal's shelter rolled away and he had to throw himself to one side to avoid being crushed by several others. The drones raced wildly around the room, shooting bolts at their target but remaining painfully difficult to take down. Mal climbed up one of the new hills, which necessitated only a short jump onto the catwalk. He called the staff to his hand and took a heavy swing at the nearest drone, crushing it and sending the shell careening into another. At the resulting explosion, the remaining orbs swarmed in.

Even though the all the blasts today were set to a lower setting meant only to lightly mark without injuring their target, Obi-Wan's grip on the chair was painfully tight. All he could make out was a flurry of blasts high above his position. Mounted cameras fed into several screens on either side of the large viewing window. In one, Obi-Wan saw Mal jump onto the narrow handrail to face the remaining drones. They were coming in fast, but Mal's blades were faster. Two more drones down.

One of the remaining four drones veered wildly, sending shots into the support cables. Mal lost his balance and rolled onto the floor. The small advantage granted by elevation lost, Mal crouched down, staff in one hand, blades in another. The drones flew in, their humming almost deafening over the speakers.

The staff flew. It spun so quickly that it looked like a silver-rimmed discus screaming through the air. It was able to slice through two drones on the initial throw. An adjustment in the force brought it through a third. The last drone was coming into quickly from behind. Mal rolled to avoid a series of blasts, smoothly releasing the throwing blade into the drone, which smoked and crashed onto the floor.

Master Drallig flipped a switch. "Well done, Padawan Farol."

Mal saluted to the viewing room and fell to his knees in exhaustion. His staff and remaining blades clattered to the floor beside the remains of twenty combat droids and the oozing remains of nearly as many simulated bodies.

The door hissed open, letting in the smell of acrid smoke that the climate control immediately began to filter. Obi-Wan ran up to Mal, "And you called a lightsaber flashy!"

Mal looked up at Obi-Wan and managed a lopsided grin, his chest heaving. He pulled himself to his feet.

"Well done, Mal."

Obi-Wan whirled to see Cri'jenchi standing nonchalantly in the doorway of the viewing area. How long had he been watching?

The master, dressed in the same black clothes as that morning, walked up and put his good arm over Mal's heaving shoulders. "You're getting better with the two-part. I'll have to arrange to have you tested for the next level. That is, of course, if we can trouble Battlemaster Drallig to set up the trial."

Drallig regarded Cri'jenchi with the same cool look Obi-Wan had seen many times when he was appraising a new student or facing a master for an upper form lightsaber demonstration. "Master Cri'jenchi, is it?" He chewed the words slowly, tasting each syllable as he spoke them.

"Ah," Cri'jenchi beamed. "You remember me!"

Drallig gave him a nod with the same deliberate slowness. "Bring Padawan Farol to me in three days for testing."

"Excellent, Master," he gave Mal a happy pat and lead him toward the exit. "Thank you again. I have something I need to speak to Mal about, so please excuse us. Padawan Kenobi, thanks for finding him. We'll see you later."

"Uh, yes, Master Cri'jenchi. Thanks for the demonstration, Mal," Obi-Wan called after them.

Master Drallig watched until the door closed, then turned to Obi-Wan. "He's from the Baltimn Temple, you said?"

"Yes, Master Drallig."

"Interesting."

That evening, Obi-Wan cleaned away his dinner dishes and made his way up to the Masters' level. When they were younger, he and Bant spent their evenings doing homework and discussing the day with their masters. As they grew older and eventually moved into the senior padawan dorms, they both still found themselves spending a few evenings a week in their masters' quarters, sometimes in need of their guidance, but mostly for their company. After the events of the last few days, Obi-Wan felt in need of both.

Qui-Gon and Tahl's quarters were located at the uppermost floor towards the end of the long hall, which placed them over a spectacular view of both one of the larger Temple gardens and the Senate District—a placement that spoke of their seniority and esteemed positions within the Order. Tonight the status screen read that they were in and welcoming visitors, so Obi-Wan entered his code.

Qui-Gon and Tahl were in their living room with their usual after-dinner tea. Sitting across from Tahl in the usually unoccupied armchair was Master Cri'jenchi.

Obi-Wan paused in the doorway. "Sorry, Masters, I didn't realize you had company."

Cri'jenchi smiled and waved Obi-wan in. "We were just talking about that impressive demonstration Padawan Farol gave today in the Battle Room. It was not up to his usual form, but you can hardly blame him after holing up in a warehouse for a few weeks."

When Obi-Wan hesitated, Tahl stood and led him into the open kitchen where she pulled his usual mug from the cabinet and poured him tea. "It's good to see you, Obi," she tugged his braid, her green-gold eyes twinkling. "Don't mind Master Cri'jenchi. He just stopped by to catch up with old friends."

"There is something that Master Cri'jenchi has brought up to me, that I admit I have been remiss in your training, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon added, raising his voice slightly from his place on the couch.

"Does it have to do with Mal- I mean Padawan Farol's combat demonstration?" Obi-Wan asked.

"In a way, yes," Qui-Gon said after a moment. He glanced at Cri'jenchi, who was staring rather too intently at Qui-Gon over the rim of his tea mug for Obi-Wan's liking.

"I understand you two have talked briefly," Qui-Gon continued. "But I should have properly introduced you."

Obi-Wan frowned. "I'm not sure I understand, Master."

"Obi-Wan," Cri'jenchi interjected. "You must be wondering why Bruck Chun is my padawan and how I know both your master and his Lifemate even though I'm based all the way from Baltimn."

"Well, yes," he admitted, his scowl deepening.

Qui-Gon raised his hand. Both Obi-Wan and Cri'jenchi stopped at the signal for quiet. "Obi-Wan, the answer to all of this both at once simple and complicated," he gestured for Obi-wan to come sit and waited for his padawan to settle. Obi-Wan was surprised to see him hesitate. "I suppose I will begin with Master Cri'jenchi. He is my first apprentice, Xanatos."

Obi-Wan balked. He gaped. His jaw landed soundly on the floor and he did not pick it up until Xanatos Cri'jenchi cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable for the first time.

"But," Obi-Wan sputtered. "Xanatos fell to the Dark Side!" He stared at the dark-haired master. "Qui-Gon killed you!"

Xanatos laughed, his strange joviality back almost immediately. "What an excellent rumor! Qui, when you said I had fallen off the general radar here, I had no idea it was with such panache. Was the story your idea, Tahl?"

Tahl glared at Xanatos as she took a seat on Obi-Wan's other side. "Be nice, Xan. It was not easy for you at this age either."

"Master," Obi-Wan began with what he thought was an admirably calm tone. "What in the fuck is going on?"

For once, Qui-Gon didn't chide him for language. "What do you know about the Baltimn Temple?" he asked instead.

Obi-Wan thought. "Not much. Just that Baltimn is in the Outer Rim near Hutt space. Mal said their curriculum was slightly different. I don't think I can recall anything other than that. "

His master nodded. "For good reason. Officially, the Jedi presence of Baltimn is very small. The Temple at Baltimn specializes in studies and field work that is… difficult to conduct on Coruscant." He turned his gaze briefly to Xanatos. "For a number of reasons, Xanatos chose—and I encouraged him—to follow a different path after his knighting."

"That's all very vague, Master," Obi-Wan could feel the beginnings of a headache between his eyes. Today had really been much too interesting for his tastes. "He left Coruscant for Baltimn to practice something nonstandard for a Jedi from the Coruscant Temple—something forbidden or illegal if Xanatos had to no longer exist. Is that what you're getting at?"

"A bright one, this boy," Xanatos grinned. He quieted under Tahl's reproachful look, but the look of amusement never left his face.

"This is a mistake," Qui-Gon sighed. "Xan, you should go-"

"No, Master!" Obi-Wan surprised himself by blurting out. "You've already opened the door. You might as well tell me. You know, we've only ever talked about Xanatos once or twice. You never said much about it. I thought it was because the memory was too painful to bring up."

Qui-Gon's expression softened. "I'm sorry I mislead you, but it was in the best interest of everybody involved to let that rumor manifest. Somehow, leaking that Xanatos had left the Order took on a life of its own, and all of a sudden, he had fallen to the Dark Side and I had to hunt him down and throw him into a vat of acid."

"Allowing that expanded holo-net in the padawan quarters has rotted everyone's brains. But as you can see, I have not, in fact, become a Sith Lord and then dissolved in acid." Xanatos quipped. "You look confused, Obi-Wan."

Tahl snorted. "I wonder why."

Qui-Gon stood. "There's much more to the story, but it's better not to speak of certain things here."

Obi-Wan wondered what deep dark secrets they were all privy to that Qui-Gon could not even utter them in his own quarters. The others also rose and followed Obi-Wan's master in donning their cloaks.

"Come," Tahl said. "We're going to the Archives."

See y'all next week!

Author's note on made-up words:

Xanatos' last name, Cri'jenchi, sort of follows Icelandic naming conventions ("Cri" for daddy Crion). "Jenchi" is a bastardized form of the Chinese "ji cheng" meaning heir or successor, indicating his connection to a noble house.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Seeds

Author: Cajolerisms ()  
Archive: Master_Apprentice, my own site (.com/)

Category: Alternate-Universe, non Q/O, Action/Adventure, First Time, Series  
Rating: NC-17  
Warnings: minor character death, touches of child abuse  
Spoilers: If you're here and haven't seen Star Wars, then, well, uh...good luck  
with that.  
Summary: The third part in the Beacon series. Qui-Gon recounts some ancient history. Obi-Wan explores new possibilities.  
Feedback: Ooh yes, give it to me baby. I love it. I kiss it. I bathe in it.  
Disclaimer: You know what, Mistah Lucas? If you let them have some fun every  
once in a while, we wouldn't have to do this. Everyone belongs to you.

Timeline:  
Beacon begins two years before TPM.  
Obi-Wan is 23 and Qui-Gon is 58.

1. Detour  
2. Digging Up Worms

3. Seeds

/Telepathy/

Obi-Wan stared at his ceiling. The Force was quiet in the darkness, seemingly content for once to let him parse everything out on his own.

He shifted again. By now the sheets were a tangled mess at the foot of the bed. It did little to help his lack of concentration. Three days ago, he had been on his way home from a series of long, arduous, but routine missions of listening to dignitaries and running through mud. Then, suddenly, people were coming back from the dead and performing all manner of miracles and sins.

Wherever the wind blows me, he repeated to himself. That expression seemed particularly apt for what his life had become in this short time, for all that the saying itself was part of this new reality that Obi-Wan still struggled to accept.

Obi-Wan wondered briefly if he was dreaming. Only in dreams and bad holos did one's master and assumed-dead former apprentice lead people down secret lifts into ancient libraries filled real paper-filled books of all things. Obi-Wan still expected to turn a corner and see Yoda sitting in a leather chair smoking a pipe.

Down they had gone, though. The space had looked more like a laboratory than the dusty, crumbling ruins that holomakers were convinced held up the entire foundation of the modern Temple. Xanatos paced the perimeter of the room, his free hand outstretched as he felt with the Force.

"Sit down, distrustful lump," Tahl had ordered. "You won't find a safer place on Coruscant for our purposes."

Xanatos sat. "You can't be too careful."

Qui-Gon joined his former padawan at the table. "She's right, you know. We set up the shielding in this room ourselves."

"Who's we?" Obi-Wan had asked.

Tahl's hands settled on his shoulders and led him to an empty chair. "Take pity on the lad, Qui, and fill him in. I think he's had enough theatrics for one day."

His master's steady gaze settled on him. Obi-Wan remembered the unnerving ferocity behind those familiar blue eyes, and tossed again in his bed.

"I won't lecture you on the nature of the Force and the Dark Side, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon began. "You have experienced enough in the field to know that evil exists, and that a Jedi's path against it is not easy. But I will ask you this: how do we combat it?"

Obi-Wan frowned. "What?"

"We as Jedi walk in the Light. We conquer the emotions that breed darkness in ourselves. We uphold laws that protect the rights and freedoms of the Republic and cause harm only in defense, but how do we combat evil?"

Before Obi-Wan could think of a response, Xanatos responded. "We don't."

Obi-Wan turned, his eyes wide.

"The Jedi are peacekeepers, which means we maintain the status quo," Xanatos said. "Common wisdoms hold that by living in the Light, by simple existing, we are combating evil. I think you and I can agree that our shining example has done little to influence the corruptible elements in the galaxy."

"Easy, Xan," Tahl murmured. "What Xan is trying to say in his own melodramatic way is that there are alternative approaches to studying and using the Force that are not only in practice now, but that exist within the Order itself."

"There are some Jedi who subscribe to a different practice, present company included," Qui-Gon continued. "Who take a more active role in seeking out the Dark Side and eliminating it."

"So you're Shadows," Obi-Wan said.

Xanatos snorted. "Lapdogs to the Judicial Coverts."

"In a way, we are," Qui-Gon glared at the younger master. "Though officially, we don't exist. Our practice's old name was Da'ji. We don't go by any name now." He peered at Obi-Wan, searching in the Force. At last, he spoke. "I will tell you what I can, should you wish to hear it."

"Why tell me at all?" Obi-Wan asked in bewilderment. "Why keep this information until now?"

Qui-Gon's face remained calm, though Obi-Wan knew his tone as the one he saved for only the most serious matters. "Because, Padawan, there are things you did not need to know, that you will need soon. The Force has made very clear to me that things will happen that will change everything on a monumental scale, and that you will be involved somehow."

"I've been having visions of something Dark. Could that have something to do with it?"

Qui-Gon Jinn was rarely surprised, when he was, the barest widening of his eyes and set of his jaw belied the emotion. "What have these visions been about?"

Obi-Wan explained that he had been seeing flashes of red light in the midst of someplace dark, that there was a presence filled with anger and the lust for revenge. He explained how the vision he had when he was meditating that afternoon had felt so real that it knocked the air out of him. All the while, he saw the weighted glances his master traded with Xanatos and Tahl. Their concern made him nervous. "I want to know, Master. If there is danger coming, I want to be prepared."

Qui-Gon's hand came to rest on his arm. His master's stony expression had softened into something both proud and sad. "Understand that what I have to tell you stands contrary to much of what you have been taught to be."

Obi-Wan met Qui-Gon's eyes. "Tell me."

"A difficult path, before you lies."

Tears spilled down his cheeks. "I don't know if I can do it, Master Yoda. He's my master."

The ancient master shook his head. "Your master no longer. My padawan no longer."

Qui-Gon's breath hitched in his chest. "I know," he whispered. "I just need some time."

"Ready, you are," Yoda said sadly.

"Yes, Master" Qui-Gon said. There was hardness in his eyes. The thick fingers toyed with the weapon's grip with newfound grace and deftness. He stood to leave, and paused. "I will miss him, though."

Yoda looked up at the boy, because that's what he was: a boy. For all his strength of body and conviction, he was only fourteen. The old master's ears dipped minutely. "Go."

He stood over the large body, watching the last of his Darkened master ebb into the Force. The wide-eyed shock on Dooku's face slowly settled into one of calm as the deep red stain on the floor spread. The bond that had been shut for months fell open then. /Thank you./

Then no more.

The blade fell from Qui-Gon's numb fingers. He was surprised to feel no anger, no fear, only sadness. His master's body was already returning to the Living Force. In his mind, Qui-Gon could see his cells breaking apart like bits of charred paper in the wind.

He tentatively opened the new training bond for the first time, sighing as the Force washed over him, comforting and soothing. /Master Yoda,/ he sent. /It is done./

Wind whipped his cloak wildly around his body, but he stood unmoving at the cliff's edge. The Force felt different here, somehow. It sang to him in lilting harmonies and pure tones, drifting lazily and buoying him against the wind.

"Knight Jinn, the ship leaves Baltimn at first light," Knight J'wenn said from behind.

"What is the mission?" Qui-Gon asked his new partner.

"They won't say," she replied, nearly shouting over the wind.

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know."

He turned to face her. Her hair whipped angrily in the air like a flame. The entire situation was so preposterous he had to smile. "Wherever the wind blows us, Londra."

Londra appeared in the doorway and engaged the lock. She slinked across the bedroom slowly, the jewels adorning her bare breasts glittered in the firelight. /I'll get you for this, Jinn./

/Whatever. It's your turn this time./ Qui-Gon smirked from his hiding place beneath the great bed. From his position, he saw his partner's bare feet move across the carpet. The target's weight above him shifted in response.

Londra's feet disappeared somewhere above him. The bed shifted again. /Why is it that when you're the decoy, you get to wear pants?/

/Because the gold thong doesn't fit me./ The sharp sound of flesh striking flesh rang out, followed by Londra's predatory giggle. That was Qui-Gon's signal.

He easily pulled himself out and towered over the pair on the bed. Their target was too involved with tugging off Londra's aforementioned thong to notice until Londra froze and let out a scream. The target turned and shouted for his guards, but was cut off by Qui-Gon's massive hand on his throat.

They could hear the guards clamoring on the other side of the door to override the locking mechanism. They would be too late, of course. Londra would release the catch just in time for them see him slip out the window.

Qui-Gon held the tiny capsule against the target's temple. With the Force, he teased apart an opening in the skin. Once he saw that toxin begin to dissolve, he healed the wound until nothing remained but smooth skin over the now-liquefied poison. The target had barely felt it. In five minutes, he'd be comatose. In thirty, he'd be dead.

Londra glared at him through her false lashes. /I'm kicking your ass after this./

He shrugged apologetically. /I deserve it./ A swift blow to her face left her convincingly bruised and teary. /Pick you up in the morning./

He crouched on the window ledge and waited for Londra's screams and the shouts of the guards before escaping into the darkness.

The skinny boy regarded him with large, serious eyes from beneath his dark fringe of hair.

Qui-Gon touched the boy's chin with gentle fingers and tilted his face upwards. There was distrust and fear there. A thought occurred to him. Qui-Gon's free hand came in with lightning speed for a first form attack, which the boy blocked instantly without blinking. On edge, this one.

"Too self-contained," the other potential masters had said. "He's closed off, manipulative."

He was also too powerful and innately talented to let go. The Force was prodding him insistently. He regarded the boy intently, holding his fingers beneath his chin like he was taming a feral animal. "Xanatos Cri'jenchi, is it?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm stepping back, Londra. Not entirely, but-"

His partner took long minutes sipping her drink before she spoke. "I knew you would. This is no life for a twelve year old," she turned to him. Coruscant's streaming nighttime traffic made her wild hair glow. "He has a great deal of promise. You'll do right by his training, won't you?"

The real question remained unspoken. Such things were not mentioned in the open air.

"I will follow the will of the Force," Qui-Gon replied.

"That's all I can ask. It's been a good..." she paused, then whistled. "Nearly ten years."

"Hard to believe, isn't it?"

She clinked their glasses together. "To the good guys."

Xanatos coughed again, and wretched violently. His master was there, pulling back his braid and rubbing slow circles along his back as his body reacted to the last ten hours.

"Breath, Padawan."

"I thought it would be the same-like any other time in battle," Xanatos rasped. Tears streamed down his face and fell into the toilet bowl. The look on that woman's face when the blood began oozing thickly out of the first cut-

"It's not the same." His master's voice was gentle but matter-of-fact.

"No, it's not," he sat up with a gasp and wiped angrily with his sleeve, feeling hollow and bitter. "Does it get any easier?"

Qui-Gon pulled him into a hug. "No, it doesn't, nor should it."

_HOLO-NET EMERGENCY BULLETIN_

_Location: Coruscant, Temple District. _

_Time: 1100_

_Jedi initiate Malvorad Farol was abducted from the Temple District open air market this morning at 0900. He is a four year old male Zabrak Iridonian standing at thirty eight inches and weighing fifty five pounds. He was last seen wearing a Jedi initiate uniform consisting of white tunics and leggings. He answers to "Mal."_

_Individuals with information regarding the location of the child or his abductor(s) are encouraged to contact Judicial Forces and the Jedi Temple. _

"Knight J'Wenn! Master Jinn! You need to see this!" The scout's voice cracked in panic.

Londra and Qui-Gon came racing to the entrance of the building. It was abandoned according to their investigation, but the physical evidence and pungently Dark signatures suggested that something terrible had happened not too long ago.

An Iridonian boy, not much taller than Qui-Gon's knee, stood unmoving in the doorway. He was bruised and sickly thin, and his wide stare focused on nothing in particular. When Qui-Gon reached for his mind, he found nothing. No wonder they had missed him.

Londra race forward and took the boy in her arms. He lay limply against her, unresponsive.

"Qui," she whispered. "It's the boy from the Temple."

His ship was ready for his return to Coruscant, but Qui-Gon recognized the look in Londra's eyes. Her mind was set. "I'll take him to Baltimn."

"Are they equipped to take someone so young?" He asked. The boy had not moved since they found him. He lay on Londra's bunk aboard the Republic space station.

Her gaze was unwavering. "They'll have to be now."

"We could take him back to Coruscant."

"You know we can't do that. If he recovers, he'll be little more than a lab animal to them."

Qui-Gon's shouldered slumped. The Force was pushing them in a direction he did not like. "He's been in that place for six months. He may be tainted beyond what we can reach."

Londra placed a gentle hand on Mal's chest. "We don't know that yet."

"That's Master Jinn. You don't want to get picked by him. His last apprentice, Xanatos, fell to the Dark Side."

"Really?"

"Yes. He was going to be knighted when they went to his homeworld and Master Jinn accidentally killed his father."

"No, I heard it was because he was seduced by a wealthy slaver and left to traffic sentients beyond Republic space."

"Don't be stupid. He's the head of a corrupt corporation that employs slaves."

"No no no, that's after he fell. He turned to the Dark Side because he was in love with his master and the lust drove him to madness."

"Last year, Master Jinn hunted him down and Xanatos killed himself to avoid capture."

"He fell into a vat of acid!"

"He jumped!"

"What do you think, Obi?"

"Quiet! Master Jinn is coming!"

"The boy is dangerous," Qui-Gon said.

Xanatos blew a plume of smoke into the air. "We don't know that yet. I'll take him to Baltimn. He will be safe there."

"Baltimn? For a junior padawan?" the master mused, his gaze settling over the Senate complex in the distance. "You think it's that serious?"

"It not the youngest someone has been successfully taken in." Xanatos' tone was matter-of-fact. "Something is coming, Master. We all feel it."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "This boy is not the answer, Xan."

"No?" the knight fixed his eyes on his former master. "He will help us find it, though. What about that Kenobi boy?"

"We'll stay here on Coruscant."

"Isn't that a little... orthodox?" Xanatos couldn't help but tease.

"You turned out decently enough," Qui-Gon replied. He turned back to his view. "I'm not sure about this one yet. You saw him fight. He's good, he's spirited."

"But?" Xanatos prodded.

"His potential is clouded."

"So was mine, if you'll recall," he smirked. "You're getting soft in your old age, Master. His emotions run strong. With the right focus, he could be very powerful. There is the beginning of a great swordsman in that one."

Qui-Gon was quiet for a moment, refusing to be baited. His former apprentice's insight had grown impressively in his years away from Coruscant. Perhaps Baltimn was not a bad idea. "And what of your new padawan?"

"Not every Jedi is meant to be a keeper of the peace, Qui-Gon."

At some point, Obi-Wan had stood abruptly, causing the chair the scrape across the floor. The sound was harsh in the quiet of the room, and grated in his memory even now. At his movement, the others stopped talking and looked at him. "I need some air," he said, and fled.

**Continue to Part 2**

The pale dawn light was beginning to filter through the windows of the Archives when he stumbled out of the tiny lift. He eventually made his way unthinking into the same meditation room he had shared with Mal the day before. The meditation mats were still where they had left them on the tile floor. He sank to his knees before the quiet pool.

The meditation did not come easily this time, cluttered as his thoughts were with these new snapshots of his Master and the Jedi Order that pressed unrelenting against the back of his eyeballs. The man that had been his mentor, father, and brother-in-arms for nearly half of Obi-Wan's life could kill an unarmed person at the behest of the Order that he had been sure was committed solely to peaceful resolutions unless absolutely necessary.

As he slowly sank into a light trance, a part of Obi-Wan recognized the necessity of such things. He had lost count of the times a violent criminal had escaped punishment through a legal loophole, or an individual responsible for the deaths and suffering of millions ended sitting comfortably in a prison cell for the short remainder of his own life, while millions of acts of hate and suffering rippled outward and forever from each ruined life.

Throughout his apprenticeship, Obi-Wan struggled with his own helpless anger for these injustices that existed in the galaxy. In his meditation, the old issue rose up readily as gnarled trees hanging their grasping branches over a shadowed walkway. His struggle had always been the Path Meditation, hampered by his prescience that pulled him too quickly toward the future and his frustration that tied him to the past and present.

This time, the sun shone in his mind with comfortable warmth. The Force surrounded him and nudged him forward as a strong breeze at his back. The trees were there as usual. They towered over him, twisted and crumbling edifices to his impotent rage. In the dead and rotted bark, Obi-Wan imagined seeing the faces of children he'd seen burned alive, of skeletons stretched over with skin who were somehow still living, of mangled limbs and haunted eyes.

He laid a hand on the tree. Of course, it was just bark. Actually, it was just an image of bark in his mind. He pulled back and watched as the wind blew away the particles of rotted bark from his fingertips.

He stood by his path for a long time, studying the lines and grooves that had been worn into the trees over time, picking at the crumbling and rotten bits and letting them scatter in the grass. Xanatos was right. As protectors of the status quo, the Jedi were wasted potential, like a well-intentioned thought never actually carried out.

The wind picked up. Something was coming. Obi-Wan could make out dark clouds in the distance: the approaching storm. These trees could provide no shelter, bare and broken as they were. Something had to be done.

When Obi-Wan rose from his mediation, the sun was just beginning to set. He made his way back through the quiet corridors of the lower Temple and into the raucous labyrinth of perpetually untidy common rooms and dormitory suites of the padawan quarters. His was empty as expected, so Obi-Wan dialed up something quick, ate it without thought, and collapsed into bed, where he lay awake for hours turning the events of the past few days over and over in his head.

An indeterminable amount of time later, Obi-Wan heard voices in the suite. Garen's familiar pitch was accompanied by another male voice that Obi-Wan couldn't decipher through the bedroom's walls. The voices were low, punctuated occasionally by a burst of laughter. They seemed to move closer since the voices grew louder, and then hushed as Garen's neighboring door hissed shut.

Any pretense of a restful night evaporated as something solid thudded from their shared wall where Obi-Wan knew Garen's bed stood, as if somebody had thrown himself, or had been thrown, onto the bed. One of them groaned. So did Obi-Wan.

Events devolved quickly after that.

The last time Obi-Wan had the time or energy to masturbate was weeks ago, he realized. And the last time he had been with someone else-well, that wasn't even worth a mention. A moan from Garen's mystery lover filtered through the wall, not much louder than a whisper.

The sound pulled a similar one from Obi-Wan. There was suddenly a gaping need in his chest and pressure building at his groin. He shifted awkwardly onto his side, back to the wall. Obi-Wan had overheard the faint sounds of Garen's exploits countless times without care or incident, but tonight was different. The sudden surge of hormones and passion uncorked something in Obi-Wan that meditation and sparring had not resolved.

He shoved his sleep pants down, freeing his erection. Sleep would not be coming anytime soon anyway. With a moment's struggle, he pulled his shirt off over his head and ran his hand down his chest, stopping to pinch and flick his nipple. He hissed and surged into his other hand, already achingly hard.

An image of Mal Farol flitted behind his eyelids, appearing as he has in the practice room the day before- face flushed and panting, his shirt plastered over that powerful chest and lean, muscled stomach. Obi-Wan imagined Mal's lips curving into that smile of his, spreading his legs further in invitation.

Obi-Wan would like nothing more than to pull those damp practice leggings down and swallow Mal whole, tasting the salty sweat and bitter precum. Obi-Wan's lips parted at the thought, his breath coming in harsh gasps now.

Another faint cry from next door punctuated Obi-Wan's fantasy. His senses filled with his own breathing and the overwhelming physical sensation of his body. His sheets were damp and heavy against his fevered skin. His cock was impossibly hard in his own calloused hand. Each harried stroke turned his focus more toward the pressure building in his groin and the imaginary heat of Mal's hands and mouth on him.

He came. His body suddenly seized and he was coming, spurting and spilling thick spunk over his hand, stomach, and chest. Obi-Wan lay still, his breathing haggard and his body shooting off the last sparks of ecstasy. He felt alight and bereft all at once, but was soon overcome by the orgasm. Finally, he slept.

Obi-Wan was unsurprised, if not a little amused, when he spied Garen stumbling into the kitchen at lunchtime in nothing but sleep pants. Quinlan Vos looking equally bleary-eyed and wearing last night's red leather leggings, however, warranted a raised eyebrow.

"Kenobi," Quinlan nodded with all the dignity of a hardened field operative, and winced.

"Nice pants, Quin," Obi-Wan smirked.

The knight did his level best to glare at him. "What about them?"

"They're very festive. I'm just not sure red is your color."

"Fuck off, Obi-Wan," Quinlan eased himself down and buried his face in his arms.

Garen gingerly set two mugs of tea on the table and slowly sank into a free chair. "Don't mind him. Tea first."

Obi-Wan stifled his grin and bent over his data-pad for the day's news. He had contacted Qui-Gon first thing in the morning, though unsure of what was safe to communicate via messaging, had simply sent /I'm in/ through their bond.

Qui-Gon's reply was equally simple. /Tonight in the lab. Twenty-one./

Obi-Wan was glad that his master did not seem angry at him for his abrupt departure last night. In fact, he detected a trace of relief.

A commlink peeped insistently from suite. Garen muttered and left to answer it, leaving Quinlan hovering over his empty mug.

"Quin," Garen called. "It's yours and it looks urgent."

Quinlan slowly opened his bloodshot eyes. As he slowly stood from the small table, his long, corded hair brushed against Obi-Wan's forehead, causing the younger man to look up.

"Tonight," Quinlan mouthed, and walked back into the suite.

Obi-Wan frowned and tried to think if Quinlan had picked up anything, but the knight couldn't pick up Readings through his hair, could he? By the time Obi-Wan stood and peered into the suite, Garen was back asleep with his door open and Quinlan had disappeared.

"It never ends!" Obi-Wan sighed to the room and was, of course, met with silence.

Bruck looked better this time, a testament to the skills of the Jedi Healers and the rapid healing properties of bacta. His wounds had closed over completely and his color looked healthy. The only indication that he wasn't in perfect health was the matrix of metal support structures screwed into the bone graft sites, which would continue to fill in and replace what had been lost to injury and infection.

Obi-Wan gazed up at the still face, marveling at how much had changed since they last traded training blows nearly ten years ago. He wondered if Bruck was as skilled at combat as Mal, or if he had killed and tortured as had Qui-Gon and Xanatos.

It was easier to sit in the near-silent Healing Ward and wonder such things rather than ask directly. His mind was still tripping over itself, trying to process everything he had learned and unlearned since returning to Coruscant. That he had accepted entrance into this new world without knowing much about it was unusual for him, but the visions had not returned, so he took it as a sign that he was heading in the right direction.

Still, the big picture eluded him, and every time Obi-Wan tried to take a mental step back and piece things together, he ended up with a headache. He didn't feel terribly concerned about the fact that such a group existed. He had enough experience with politics and palace intrigue to know that the higher-ups rarely divulged their secrets, and that flirting within the grey areas of morality and legality occurred more often than it did not.

He slumped in his chair and let out a long breath. The fact that there were Jedi out there hunting people down and killing them did not sit badly with him, and that itself sat badly with him. He did not sense any Darkness in his master, or Tahl, or even the Baltimn Jedi, and yet the part of him that recited the Jedi Code as a calming exercise and straightened crooked picture frames still could not make the mental leap. As much as he had pondered the issue privately over the years, and understood it on an intellectual level, Obi-Wan was no closer to truly understanding the delicate balance required to destroy for the greater good.

It was a concept not taught in any class, and Obi-Wan had only encountered it while studying the more obscure ancient texts that Tahl gifted him access to. He could recall a little of the old practice that no longer had a name. The Da'ji, he knew, had studied all aspects of the Force and put most of what they learned into practice. Not one of them had fallen to the Dark Side. What strength of purpose and discipline of mind these practitioners of the old Da'ji had to maintain Lightness of heart and intent, even during the Darkest of acts.

And here he was, a thousand years later, warned by visions of some great, encroaching Darkness, and without the faintest idea of how to combat it.

Fuck, when did everything get so complicated?

A knock at the entrance brought his attention back to the present. Mal stood in the doorway, smiling shyly. The Baltimn curriculum must included extensive stealth training, Obi-Wan mused. Both Xanatos and Mal had a habit of showing up completely unexpected and undetected. He had not felt so unbalanced in a long time.

Actually, his disquiet most likely had nothing to do with unannounced arrivals and everything to do with what Obi-Wan could not deny as a massive crush on Mal Farol. The padawan had a startling intensity in the training room that belied his otherwise calm and rather closed presence anywhere else. It made Obi-Wan infuriatingly curious. His appeal extended to his appearance, which shared the same dichotomous quality as his character—discipline and passion all contained within that powerful body and accented with delicate tattoos.

At first, Obi-Wan was merely curious to meet a Zabrak Iridonian. The curiosity quickly evolved into desire when he saw this straight-backed young man dive into battle with a connection to the Force that was so ferocious that Obi-Wan found it both frightening and intoxicating.

Plus, Mal smelled good.

It was this subtle smell of windblown spices and fragrant wood, mixed with the familiar scent of clean clothes from the Temple laundry, which drew Obi-Wan out of his seat to stand beside Mal, not daring to touch him, but settling for watching as Mal touched the bacta tank with gentle fingers, his face unreadable.

"Those techniques you saw in the Battle Room yesterday," Mal said after a while. "Many of them are banned."

"Yes," Obi-Wan replied slowly. This seemed like a dangerous topic to bring up out loud.

"You could have reported me. I'll probably face censure or expulsion for some of them."

"Most likely."

"And yet you didn't report me."

"I figured if anything was worthy of concern, Master Drallig would take care of it."

"Really?"

"Yes. You and Bruck are close?" he asked, changing the subject to something more appropriate should a healer walk by.

"My best friend," Mal replied.

"It must be difficult to see him like this. He seems much better," Obi-Wan offered.

Mal nodded. "Master Xanatos says you two knew each other as initiates."

"Yes, we're agemates. We didn't get along then, but that was a long time ago."

Mal gave Obi-Wan a quick glance, and turned back to the Bruck. "Well, he can be an asshole."

Obi-Wan laughed, surprised. Mal slowly faced him again, and this time the smile was back. He looked Obi-Wan warmly for several seconds too long until Obi-Wan wanted to either kiss him or run away.

"We make an interesting pair, Obi-Wan," he said finally.

"Oh?" Obi-Wan was quite proud that he kept his voice from wavering. "What do you mean?"

"I, in familiar circumstances but a strange place. You, in a familiar place but strange circumstances…" Mal tapered off, thinking. "I spoke with Master Drallig today. He suggested we work together. You could help me on lightsaber forms and I could help you with hand weapons."

"I would like that," Obi-Wan returned the smile. In his head, he was doing cartwheels.

"Great. I like you, Obi-Wan. It's a shame we can't be friends."

The cartwheel came up short and his excitement fell flat on its ass. "Why not?"

Mal looked back up at Bruck's form in the tank. "I have been without a master for weeks now. The Council has deemed that I'm not traumatized, so they'll want me back in active duty very soon."

"Back to Baltimn?" Obi-Wan couldn't help the hint of desperation that slipped into his voice. "You won't stay on Coruscant with Xanatos and Bruck?"

"It's not my decision to make," Mal said plainly. "So it's better that we not get involved."

Obi-Wan knew he was blinking stupidly. His ears were playing tricks on him.

"I'll be happy with what sparring sessions we can fit in," Mal continued. Was he blushing? Fingers ghosted against Obi-Wan's, warm and real. "I'll see you tonight."

Obi-Wan watched Mal turn and leave, his footfall fractionally quicker than usual. He wordlessly sat back in his seat, unable to suppress the goofy grin that spread across his face. Tonight.

**Continue to Part 3**

The great wooden door at the entrance of the Archives towered silently above him. At this time of night, most Temple residents were winding down for the evening and the relatively few nocturnal Jedi were only beginning to rise. The Archives would be practically deserted.

Obi-Wan entered after a brief pause, deciding against using Tahl's personal code which he had memorized. As a master archivist, second only in authority to Master Nu, Tahl had access to everything in the Archives, a privilege she abused regularly to show Obi-Wan original ancient manuscripts that were stored away from general view. Archiving could get lonely, she had argued, and neither her bondmate nor her own padawan appreciated a three thousand year old personal letter like Obi-Wan.

Tonight, he moved silently past the histories in the First Hall and stopped at a small lift that he had walked past many times and never given much thought until recently. It took him down much further than the main lift that went to the ancient collections beneath the central rotunda, well into the ancient bowels of the Temple, if Obi-Wan's sense of the lift's movement was correct.

It opened into a nondescript corridor that branched out in many directions. Obi-Wan followed the path he memorized from his last visit, making a mental note to ask about what else lay down here.

When he reached the lab, he hesitated. It was easily recognizable by its lack of presence in the Force, thanks to the high shielding Tahl and Qui-Gon had set up. The problem was that Obi-Wan didn't have the access code.

As he was about to knock, the door flew open. Xanatos stood before him, beaming in the same unsettling way that Obi-Wan had yet to decipher as completely genuine or completely false. This time, he was dressed in a slightly ridiculous blue shirt that was currently in fashion with the uselessly rich and visible in Coruscant's upper circles.

"Ah, you made it!" he grinned, stepping aside to let Obi-Wan in.

Qui-Gon, Tahl, and Mal were sitting at the table with mugs of tea. A plate of sandwiches and stack of datapads sat nearby. The strange domesticity of the scene made Obi-Wan snort in disbelief.

Standing near them were Quinlan Vos, seemingly recovered from last night, and a blue Twi'lek padawan who Obi-Wan recognized as a girl from the younger intermediate group.

The conversations meandered casually over past and upcoming missions, with no short mention of the Dark visions most of them were having, though none apparently were as severe as Obi-Wan's. He was content to sit and absorb for the moment, and steal glances at Mal, who listened to the discussion with rapt attention.

Once the tea was refilled and the sandwiches mostly gone, Qui-Gon stood. As the senior Jedi, he was apparently heading the meeting.

"I'll skip the formalities. You've no doubt heard of the attacks on Republic bases and settlements in the past few months. We've learned from our informant in the Senate and some digging around by Master Cri'jenchi that Republic credits are funneling into these terrorist groups."

Obi-Wan nodded to himself. Rothees had been the last of several missions to Republic worlds thrown into chaos by devastating attacks that seemingly came from the clear sky. Most had thankfully not descended into full-scale war, but all had suffered huge blows to their government or resource infrastructures.

Quinlan was shaking his head. "That could mean anything. Fringe groups have been attacking the Republic since there's been a Republic. "

Qui-Gon continued, "Each body that has been attacked in the past six months has formally complained to the Senate."

"Not the Judiciary, or the Jedi," Xanatos noted.

"Each complaint has been deferred to committee."

"Why the hell would they do that?" Quinlan balked. "How many complaints have there been?"

Qui-Gon folded his hands in front of him and nodded. "Xan?"

"Roughly two hundred."

Somebody let out a low whistle.

Tahl was scowling. "This stinks of a conspiracy."

"That's not all."

Xanatos stood and retrieved a datachip from his pocket. "None of the incidents have any usable security recordings. Someone or something is stopping the signals." He inserted the chip into a holo projector on the wall. "The only bit anyone can decipher is a few seconds from a station on the Hydian Way. My padawan is still out of action, but I managed to get a hold of a copy without being traced."

The holo blinked on and showed what looked like floor of the space station from high above. Obi-Wan had trouble making out anything images through the smoke, though it appeared the recorder was hanging precariously from the ceiling, given the way the pictured swayed and wobbled.

Then, there it was. A dark form, the size of a person, crossed within range of the recorder. It then apparently fell from its mounting, the floor coming into view very quickly before shorting out.

When the image returned, everything was sideways. Obi-Wan could now clearly see several bodies in Republic uniforms. A black boot filled the viewspace, along with the edge of a black cloak. Though there was no sound in the recording, Obi-Wan knew instantly when the lightsaber blade turned on. A familiar glow filled the scene, but when the blade came into view, his heart sank. It was red.

In an instant, the blade overtook the scene and the recording ended. Everyone in the lab sat in stunned silence until Xanatos powered off the projector and pocketed the chip again.

The Twi'lek girl sniffled quietly.

/Aayla's master was killed last week investigating the attacks,/ Qui-Gon sent in response to Obi-Wan's questioning expression. /Quinlan will continue her training now./

/Quinlan?/

Obi-Wan looked again and saw Quinlan put his arm around her. She leaned against him and tried to smile. Obi-Wan sense the light buzz of telepathic conversation between them. It felt right, strangely enough. He wondered if Garen knew.

After the recording, the meeting became much more subdued, each member half-caught in their own thoughts. Qui-Gon spoke of an upcoming meeting with Yoda and the Council about launching a full investigation. Xanatos mentioned a funding project, which made Obi-Wan wonder about his previous excursions into the city, and his penchant for expensive civilian clothes.

Finally, the subject turned to the matter of Mal's status. Just as he had said in the Healer's Ward that afternoon, Mal was indeed slated to return to Baltimn within a week.

"Aayla and I will escort him home," Quinlan volunteered. "It will give us a chance to get to know each other."

"I'm sure the Council will agree," Tahl agreed. "In the mean time, I believe Mal has a little project of his own?"

"Yes, Master Tahl. Obi-Wan and I are going to train together. I will introduce him to some advanced hand weapons, and in return, he will help me with my lightsaber form." Mal's eyes met Obi-Wan's across the table, then glanced briefly at the holo projector. "From the looks of things, I may need to brush up on my dueling after all."

"You'll be hard pressed to find a better dueler than our little Kenobi," Quinlan said. "I'd be interested to see you fight, Farol."

Mal and Quinlan quickly fell into an in-depth discussion about fighting forms, which Aayla soon joined with equal enthusiasm. Xanatos rose and quietly pulled Qui-Gon away to speak in the corner. Tahl winked at Obi-Wan and passed him the last sandwich half.

"We're winding down for tonight. How are you holding up?"

"All right," he replied between bites. "Are these meetings regular?"

" No, there are rarely enough of us around to warrant a meeting. This is a special occasion of sorts," she smiled. "It's usually just me trying to decipher ancient Force tricks without getting blown up. Though now that you and my dear beast are home for the next class cycle, you can join your fellow archive-rat in the research."

"I'd really like that, thank you."

Tahl caught the end of his braid between two fingers and pulled lightly. "How you turned out so polite with two big grumps like your master and me around is a mystery. It's good to have you with us."

Soon the others were rinsing out their mugs in a small kitchen off the main room and preparing to go. Quinlan and Aayla left first, taking a turn out the door that was in the opposite direction of the lift. At least some of the corridors must have led to different entrances.

Xanatos led Mal out next. As they passed by, Mal whispered "meditation" so faintly that Obi-Wan thought he was imagining things.

Obi-Wan felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right, Padawan? I know it's been a trying few days."

"To say the least, Master, but I'm getting the hang of it."

"That's my boy. Since we'll be in-Temple for a few weeks, it will be the perfect time to refocus your training. You'll actually be surprised what you already know." His master settled his long arm over Obi-Wan's shoulders, hugging him lightly.

"You mean I'm a sleeper agent and you'll activate my top secret assassin training with a code word?"

"Impudent." Qui-Gon tugged his braid a little harder than usual, But Obi-Wan felt happiness in their bond. "So what's going on with you and Padawan Farol?"

Obi-Wan pulled back slightly. Had he been that obvious? "I—you know about us?"

"I was talking about your weapons training. Working with Mal is an excellent starting point." Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow. "What else should I know about?"

"I honestly don't know, Master," he sighed. "I think there is mutual interest."

"You think?"

"I know how I feel, and he indicated as much this afternoon, but-"

"Well then I think you should take advantage of the opportunity. Remember what I said about finding time for relationships, Obi-Wan. You know as well as I that interesting times are approaching. Take what comfort you can, while you can. It's time to get back on the speeder."

The last part hit him more accurately than he liked to admit."What if-"

"Live in the moment, Padawan. Kru was four years ago," Qui-Gon said gently. "Let him go."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan replied automatically.

Qui-Gon jostled him, and nodded almost imperceptibly toward the door. Obi-Wan looked up to see Mal as he stepped out behind Xanatos, the light catching his profile for a moment before the door slid closed behind them. "He is cute."

"Master!" Obi-Wan hissed, scandalized.

"What? I can't look?" Qui-Gon's expression was pure innocence.

"He's too young for you!"

His master grinned. "I bet he's limber too."

Obi-Wan broke free and buried his face. "Oh Force, take me now. What would Tahl say?"

"What would I say about what?" Tahl asked, appearing beside Qui-Gon.

"Nothing," Obi-Wan said quickly, shooting his master a glare.

Tahl looked at her bondmate quizzically. Qui-Gon bent down and whispered something in her ear. Slowly, a smile spread across her face and she laughed. "Ooh. Only if I get to watch."

"That's it," Obi-Wan declared, face flaming. "I'm leaving."

As he shouldered his cloak and palmed the door open, he heard Qui-Gon call, "Remember your shielding tonight, Padawan."

Mal was kneeling in his usual spot by the pool when Obi-Wan arrived. He looked lovely, softly lit by the nighttime glow of traffic filtering through the window.

"Hi," Obi-Wan said.

Mal opened his eyes and smiled at him. "Hi. Thanks for coming."

Obi-Wan was on his knees beside Mal. Live in the moment.

Their lips met, tentatively at first, but then Mal's parted ever so slightly, drawing Obi-Wan in deeper. They kissed like this for a long time, exploring the outer curves of each other's lips without needing to delve further yet. Mal's mouth was full and warm. The bare trace of stubble on his chin provided a nice counterpoint as it scraped across Obi-Wan's cheek.

When Obi-Wan pressed his tongue forward, Mal's lips fell open. Obi-Wan took his time exploring Mal's mouth, feeling straight teeth and wet heat before Mal pulled back and sucked lightly on Obi-Wan's lower lip.

He groaned, the only noise either of them had made until now. Mal's fingers met his, gentle and light as their kissing was. They travelled over the backs of his hands and up his sleeves, coming to rest along his jaw. Obi-Wan broke the kiss as his head fell back, letting Mal's feather light touch ignite sparks along the sensitive skin of his jaw and throat.

Mal's breathing came heavily now. "You're beautiful," he whispered, pressing a nibbling kiss beneath Obi-Wan's ear.

Obi-Wan sighed.

His belt came undone and fell to the floor. Those hands, capable of massive destruction wrapped around the handle of a weapon, now eased open the layers of his tunics with the barest touch. Obi-Wan forced himself to sit still, wanting badly to arch into Mal's touch, to feel the other padawan's rough palms on him. Instead, Mal was gentle, almost reverent, as he explored each inch of newly exposed skin. His tunics pooled around his boots. Every nerve ending was awake to the faintest sensation—the pads of his fingertips ghosting down his throat, across his chest and stomach, along his ribs, followed by the scrape of fingernail as Mal reversed his exploration that sent shivers running through him.

Then, Mal's lips were on him, following the same paths his hands had taken. Obi-Wan whimpered into the darkness, head still tilted back as if basking in Mal's heat and desire. The hot breath and soft lips traced the contours of his collarbone and down his chest, stopping to press against his right nipple. A hot, wet tip of a tongue flicked once.

"Mal!" Obi-Wan gasped. "Please. Please."

Mal moaned softly into his chest, lips latched on the sensitive nub and sucked hard. Obi-Wan cried out and clutched blindly at Mal's shoulders. His cock strained against his leggings, needing to feel the fingers and mouth that had so far ignored it. Mal brought his hand up and flicked Obi-Wan's other nipple hard. Obi-Wan was vaguely aware of some desperate, needy noise and was sure they were coming from him, but all he knew for certain was the exquisite feel of hot, rough callous on one peaked nub and wet suction on the other. He was sure he could come from this alone.

Until now, his hands had fiercely gripped Mal's outer tunic as he struggled to stay still, to not force the smaller man onto his back and tear at his clothes until everything was laid bare. Bit by bit, Obi-Wan's control ebbed from him with each lap of Mal's skilled tongue or exhalation against his skin, already burning hot.

When Mal paused for a moment, Obi-Wan pounced. They fell back onto the mat as Obi-Wan pinned Mal beneath his frantic kiss. Mal's lips were swollen and wet now, and Obi-Wan took no pause in forcing his tongue between them until he pulled a deep groan from the other man.

Obi-Wan straddled Mal. He rocked his hips, grinding their erections together through their pants. Mal's eyes fluttered shut and his mouth fell open.

Whereas Mal's exploration was slow and meditative, Obi-Wan scrabbled feverishly to divest Mal of his tunics. He yanked off his belt with judicious use of the Force and similarly flung open his clothes. Obi-Wan's ran his hand from Mal's throat, over his heaving chest, down his stomach, and hooked his fingers in the waistband.

Mal's unders came down with the same forceful pull that brought his pants down to mid-thigh and allowed his thick erection to bob free. Obi-Wan stood briefly to free himself of his own pants and boots, allowing Mal to do the same. Then they lay together on the mats, legs tangled.

Obi-Wan found that the base of Mal's horns were extremely sensitive, so he spent his time licking and caressing each in turn until Mal was whimpering and trembling against him, rutting mindlessly against his hip. At the same time, he returned the earlier favor by pinching and teasing Mal's nipples, and making Mal arch into his touch.

Slowly, Obi-Wan slid down until he could pepper Mal's taught stomach with kisses. His chin bumped against Mal's cock and he felt a trickle of wetness from the tip cooling against his throat.

Mal's clean, spicy scent was intoxicating. Obi-Wan was consumed with the smell, feel, and now the taste of Mal as he ran his tongue in a long swipe from the base to the head, pausing to swirl his tongue over the hardened flesh. Mal smelled of soap and musk and wind. He was hairless down here as well, and Obi-Wan delighted in taking him in hand and gently sucking his testicles until he cried out, his cock so hard that Obi-Wan could feel Mal's throbbing pulse against his palm.

Obi-Wan now took his time, drawing Mal tightly into his mouth and running his tongue along the sensitive underside. Mal made a strangled noise into his hand, his cock jerking in Obi-Wan's eager mouth.

Obi-Wan maneuvered himself over Mal's leg, grinding wantonly against the other man's shin as he took pleasure with his mouth. Mal's cries were louder and more urgent. His cock grew harder, if that was at all possible. Every muscle in his body strained; his hands grappled blindly, pulling on Obi-Wan's braid to just the point of pain.

Obi-Wan released Mal's erection suddenly, pulling another cry from him, this time in protest. He looked up at Obi-Wan with wide, dark eyes that were swallowed by dilated pupils.

Obi-Wan moved up to straddle Mal again, his own needy, straining flesh positioned over Mal's. He gave himself a few firm strokes, groaning, before lowering himself and taking both of them in his hand.

Mal's eyes rolled back, and his head fell back onto the mat. Obi-Wan lean in and sucked hard where Mal's neck and shoulder met, bruising him and making him groan deep and long. They began to move frantically against each other, any remnants of control burned away by need and passion.

Overcoming with the heat of Mal's soaked, bucking body beneath him, Obi-Wan buried his face in the crook of Mal's neck and stretched over him. Their cocks slid against each other, slick with spit, sweat, and precum, velvety sensitive skin over hot, rigid steel.

Suddenly, Mal froze beneath him, mouth open and eyes screwed shut. His hips rose with such force that they were both lifted off the floor as hot liquid spurted out over Obi-Wan's hand. With a moan, Obi-Wan followed Mal, their seed mingling between their shuddering bodies.

Obi-Wan came back to himself as Mal rolled him to one side. His limbs felt incredibly heavy, but he managed to call his robe to him and pull over them both. The Force was quiet, faintly purring in the far recesses of his consciousness. Obi-Wan fell asleep, blanketed by his robe, with Mal's fingers in his hair.


	4. Chapter 4

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow and returned his attention to the space in front of him, sitting perfectly still. He was moving his way up through a list of increasingly difficult material. The various dried organic plant matter had been easy, the nerf jerky less so. This time, it was a fresh cut, surreptitiously acquired by Qui-Gon earlier that morning for their lesson from the kitchens.

He'd been working on this new exercise all morning. His focus honed to a fine point, Obi-Wan could see each fiber of the meat, each atom. Their movement was clear and deliberate in the Force, giving off energy that would transfer indefinitely from one to another. It was a perfect moment between the Living and Unifying Force. Obi-Wan knew he could meditate like this forever, but that was not his task. Instead, he nudged the particles just slightly, feeling them shift from their intended paths and building speed as he fed them energy from the surrounding Force until the whole thing hummed in his mind's eye.

The steak burst into flames. Obi-Wan sat back with a gasp, blinking sweat from his eyes.

"Good," his master's voice rumbled behind him. "You're down to two minutes."

The room filled with the aroma of cooked meat. Qui-Gon gave it a mental jab, testing Obi-Wan's work, which made it shift slightly on the plate. "Not bad. A little overdone, perhaps."

"I can't believe you've known how to do this the whole time, considering how many ration bars we've had to choke down in every muddy hole from here to Hutt Space," Obi-Wan grumbled.

His master chuckled. "Adversity builds character. You need a break. Let's have lunch."

Obi-Wan picked up the plate and followed Qui-Gon from the shielded practice room. He poured juice and laid out dishes while his master sliced the steak for sandwiches. It was nice knowing that no matter how much things changed, some little things stayed the same.

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, until Qui-Gon brushed away the last of his crumbs. "So what have you learned?"

It was a familiar question. Over the years, many of Obi-Wan's new lessons had been followed by an informal reflection, usually over a shared meal. Early in his apprenticeship, he realized the purpose was not to memorize new facts or techniques, but to incorporate the new lesson into his growing practical knowledge of what it meant to be a Jedi.

"It's much the same as any other form of Force Manipulation," he began, then paused. "But it's not really."

Qui-Gon's lip twitched slightly, not quite smiling. "How so?"

"In Force Manipulation, as we are taught, the focus is inward. Its purpose is to extend the natural limits of the body, like in speed, endurance, or pain tolerance. For skills like levitation, it's still an extension of what our bodies do naturally, to lift or push an object, which is why it takes a great deal of energy to do it. It also requires the least amount of discipline and fine control, which is why even untrained Force users figure it out.

"But with our lesson today," he continued more slowly. "The Manipulation had nothing to do with the body. It was altering the properties of something on a molecular level. It was pure mental control over something you're not connected to. That's why I don't feel physically tired at all."

Obi-Wan paused for a moment. The distinction was subtle, and tricky to explain. His master sat in silence, letting him work out his thoughts.

"And it's not like building a psychic shield or something that is entirely mental because it affects the physical plane. It's finessing Force Control the next level where- and forgive me for sounding melodramatic- you're playing with the fabric of the universe. It's like pushing up against a boulder versus using a lever."

Qui-Gon did smile then. "Why would this skill not be generally taught, then?"

"Because it's too much," Obi-Wan replied simply. "Being able to alter physical reality at just a thought separates us from our surroundings. It becomes easy to detach yourself, and makes killing easy. I suppose you could even stop people from dying. If many individual Forcer users had such powers, we would be impossible to control."

"Ah," said a new voice. "You're learning."

Obi-Wan jumped, and turned to see Xanatos and Tahl in the doorway. "Damn it, when do I get to learn how to sneak around like that?"

Qui-Gon's first apprentice simply grinned. He sniffed the air. "The pyro lesson, Qui-Gon? Always a classic."

"Pity you didn't save any steak for us," added Tahl, sidling next to her bondmate with her own glass of juice. He smiled and kissed her by way of greeting.

"I don't know how you do it, little brother," Xanatos said from the doorway. "These two weren't simpering over each other like a pair of mating birds when I was a padawan. Good thing, too, or I think I'd have vomited myself to death."

Obi-Wan pointedly ignored the nickname and shrugged. "I think it's nice."

Tahl made a face. "Thank you, Obi. Ever the charmer, Xan."

"I can see I'm outnumbered here," Xanatos sighed dramatically. "To business. Qui-Gon, I have some information you'll want to see about the Senate as soon as possible."

Qui-Gon's merry expression turned serious. "I'm available now." He gave Tahl another kiss, murmuring something inaudible that made her smile. With a warm squeeze of Obi-Wan's shoulder and an eye roll at Xanato's mock disgust, he disappeared with his former apprentice into the hall.

Obi-Wan shook his head and finished off the last of his sandwich, only to see Tahl grinning strangely at him from across the table.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Don't give me that what. Did you and Mal bump banthas last night?"

"Master Tahl!"

"Oh come off it, Obi-Wan. If you don't spill the details now, I'll have my padawan interrogate you when she gets backs and you know she will be furious with you for doing it while she was away."

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't."

The grin turned predatory. "Wouldn't I?"

"My master has the good graces to respect my private life," he scowled.

"Your master gets all the good gossip from me," Tahl retorted.

Obi-Wan sighed. He had been relieved when Qui-Gon dove into their lesson first thing that morning, but long experience told him that resisting Tahl's prodding was futile, especially when Bant got involved. "There's not much to tell, really. Last night went pretty well, I thought, but when I woke up this morning, Mal was gone."

"Really? That's odd," Tahl frowned.

Obi-Wan shrugged, not needing to hide his dejection from her. "It's probably for the best. He's leaving in a few days anyway and I'll probably never see him again."

"Oh Obi," and Tahl's arms were around him. Her embrace was not solid and engulfing like his master's, but equally full of love and comfort. It was surprisingly soothing, which made Obi-Wan feel even more pathetic.

"Master told me to live in the moment, and I did," he said with disgust. "but I just don't know. Did I do something to drive him away?"

He sat for a long time with his head on her shoulder, until she eased open the fist he didn't realize he was making.

"You should tell him about Kru," she said. When he stiffened, she continued, "Your master is a great Jedi, a good man, and cares deeply for you, but you must remember, Obi, that he's just a man. He doesn't fully understand your connection to the Unifying Force. He lives so purely in the Moment that sometimes he doesn't realize that it's not easy for you to let go of the past."

"It shouldn't be this hard."

"No, Obi, it should. What happened to you hurt. No one blames you for being afraid."

"A Jedi shouldn't be afraid."

"A Jedi conquers his fear," Tahl corrected gently. "Meditate on it. The Force will show you the way."

She was right, of course. Obi-Wan didn't protest when she extricated herself from him and shooed him out; he would need to clear his head before he saw Mal again.

At some point after exiting the hidden lift, Obi-Wan realized that he didn't even know where to find Mal. First things first though, he needed to regain his balance, and so decided against going back to the room where he and Mal had spent the night. Instead, he found a relatively quiet corner of a large open-air garden. He certainly didn't want to be alone with his thoughts, and the distant cacophony of initiates playing, fountains bubbling, and birds singing help him tune into the Living Force.

The exercise with his master from that morning helped. His mind was already primed to focus in on his immediate surroundings. He let himself waft on all the signs of life around him, unburdened by the pains of the past and uncertainty of the future. The Force felt glad to have him here as it thrummed under his skin in reassurance.

When he eased out of his trance, Obi-Wan felt a familiar presence in front of him. He opened his eyes to see Mal sitting a respectable distance away, looking as troubled as Obi-Wan had felt earlier, which surprised Obi-Wan. In the days that they had spent together, the younger padawan had been the very picture of control and poise despite the recent upheaval in his life.

"Hello," Obi-Wan said when Mal made no move to speak.

"Hello."

"Where did you go this morning?"

Mal shifted uneasily. "The salles. I needed to run through some katas."

It seemed like half an answer at best. Though Obi-Wan wondered what had Mal so upset, he couldn't keep all his own confusion and hurt from leaking into his voice. "You should have told me."

"I should have, yes."

"Do you make a habit of running off from your sexual partners?"Obi-Wan kept his voice low, partially to avoid drawing any attention to their conversation, but mostly to maintain some of the calm the meditation had afforded him.

"No."

"So I'm a special case."

"That's not what I meant," Mal stammered. He seemed to search for words that never came. "It's not wise to duel unless we're on solid footing, so I came to apologize."

"I agree, but you owe me some better explanation. I don't know about you, Mal, but I don't take sex lightly. I thought there was something between us. If I'm wrong, then tell me now."

Mal's gaze fell. "You're right. I do owe you." He hesitated. "I was scared."

"Scared?" Obi-Wan said in surprise. "Of what?"

Still not meeting his eyes, Mal's ever restless hands began worrying the hem of his sleeve. "Forgive me for being tactless. I'm not good with people in general, and I'm not very, um, experienced."

Obi-Wan softened at that. He wasn't far removed from those first awkward encounters himself, and Mal was younger, he reminded himself. "That's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Well, the thing is," Mal continued. "I really like you, Obi-Wan. I've never been attracted to anyone like I am to you. What happened last night was more than I hoped would happen between us, and this morning, I realized that in few days, I'd never see you again. I mean, I've always known that, but it hit harder than I expected."

"Mal-"

"I've never felt so attached to anyone, not even my master. The intensity of it- it frightened me."

Obi-Wan watched as Mal exhaled deeply. He took several breaths, and by the time he met Obi-Wan's eyes, he was again the perfect picture of Jedi calm—though this time Obi-Wan could see the mask for what it was. Here was a lonely young man in a strange place, knocked off balance by circumstances beyond his control and holding his composure with admirable aplomb. Obi-Wan should have recognized it right away. Instead, he had been busy acting like a lovelorn teenager.

Qui-Gon and Tahl were right. He needed to tell Mal, if only for himself. He was unnecessarily burdening himself and it had thrown him off balance, had for years, if he was going to be completely honest. He needed to overcome this guilt and fear of…what? Loss? Abandonment? Whatever name Obi-Wan gave it, it needed to be exorcised.

Mal knelt before him, growing more and more uncomfortable in Obi-Wan's silence. Before Obi-Wan knew what to say, the younger padawan sat up ramrod straight and cleared his throat. "I have offended you, Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi," he intoned loudly, causing several knights nearby to look their way.

Obi-Wan let out a shout of surprise as Mal fell forward, face pressed into the grass. To his horror, Mal grabbed the hem of his tunic and began reciting ritual Contrition right there in the garden, complete with witnesses.

"Mal!" Obi-Wan hissed in panic. "Get up! I'm not mad at you! Please!"

"You're not?" Mal looked up in surprise.

Obi-Wan caught the sputtering string of curses before they had a chance to burst out and scandalize them even more. The look of shock and worry on Mal's face was so earnest, and the situation so ridiculous that he found himself smiling.

"We make a fine pair," he laughed at last, shaking his head.

"Huh?"

"There's something I need to tell you but not here. Would you like to come to my quarters for tea?"

Every emotion flickered across Mal's face, from surprise to joy to apprehension to confusion. After running the gamut, he seemed to settle for delight. "I'd love to."

As they walked through the Padawan Hall, a few of Obi-Wan's agemates gave Mal appraising looks and quite a few more raised their eyebrows at Obi-Wan. He gave Mal's hand a reassuring squeeze. Normally, he liked to avoid the rumor mills whenever possible and never showed affection in public except with his closest friends, and that was of a completely different sort. Today, however, he found he didn't care.

He made a quick stop in the kitchen for tea and a snack before leading Mal into his small dorm. There wasn't much furniture besides a desk and chair, so they lounged side by side on his bed, eating cookies and talking about nothing in particular.

"Do all the padawans live in this hall?" Mal asked between bites.

"We move out of our masters' quarters when we reach senior level. By then I guess they figure we've done enough relationship building and need to learn some independence."

"It's an interesting idea. Bruck and I are the only padawans based on Baltimn, so there's no bother doing anything special for us. Whatever our masters wanted to do was fine so long as we didn't burn the place down."

Obi-Wan laughed. Mal was good company; he slightly regretted complicating the whole matter with sex, but he couldn't deny that he still found the other padawan powerfully attractive—even more now that he had a glimpse of Mal beneath his Jedi veneer.

And the way Mal smiled…he just wanted to make him smile like that every day.

Suddenly, his ears filled with the sound of air rushing. He shook his head. The Force wasn't letting him off that easy.

"Obi-Wan?" Mal asked, concerned.

Obi-Wan smiled at him and pushed himself up, but when he shifted his weight his left arm buckled beneath him. The pain was minute and over in a flash, but the shock of it made him gasp.

Mal sat up, alarmed. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I just landed hard on my wrist the other day when we were sparring," Obi-Wan muttered. "It's my own fault."

"Nevertheless, you shouldn't leave an injury untended." Mal had his hand on Obi-Wan's forearm, massaging and stroking the tender area.

"Wait-"Obi-Wan protested. "You can't—"

"Relax, I know what I'm doing. Super secret Jedi powers, remember?"

Obi-Wan felt the comforting heat of Force Healing wrap around each muscle fiber and tendon, but it was different than when the healers used it. It didn't smack of Mal's Force signature, nor did the energy surge into him from Mal's hands. Instead, Obi-Wan felt the Force shift almost imperceptivity from all directions, just like the fire exercise from that morning.

"That feels nice," he admitted with a sigh.

Mal leaned in, hovering hesitantly until Obi-Wan closed the minute distance between them with a kiss. It was yielding and sweet as Mal's lips parted, breath slipped over them as if he had been holding it in from their night together. His fingers, restless as ever, traced over the sensitive skin of Obi-Wan's left wrist, touching the web of scarring that almost entirely encircled it. "Where did you get this?"

The moment burst. "Skirted too close to the Unknown Region and got boarded by pirates," Obi-Wan replied automatically. He willed himself to not tense, focusing instead on setting his mug on the desk.

Mal held Obi-Wan's hand in both of his, stroking his thumb over the pale, raised skin. "This must have been bad, if it scarred so much. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, Obi-Wan. I shouldn't have pried."

Obi-Wan steeled himself. "I want—I need to tell you. You should know that I haven't been romantically or sexually involved with anyone in four years."

Mal's expression intensified in alarm. "Did something happen?"

"I was involved with a Knight for a while, and the way it ended sort of put me off dating."

Seeing his hesitation, Mal squeezed his hand and smiled at him. "It's okay, Obi-Wan. You can tell me."

He shut his eyes and ran his hand through his hair. If he could tell the Council back then, why was it infinitely more difficult now? The pain and regret had rooted itself in his memory. _Tell it like you're giving a report_. He opened his eyes and forced the most innocuous details stumbling out first.

"I met Kru when I was eighteen and he was twenty-six at a get-together of a mutual friend. The attraction was instantaneous. We flirted whenever we were both in-Temple. It went on for months, back and forth. He was charming and passionate, and looking back on it now, probably took more than a little pride in corrupting me."

It wasn't as painful as he feared to talk about it out loud. Each word came with a little more ease.

"He wasn't my first, but he was definitely more experienced than anyone I had ever been with. We spared together, and went out into the city a few times. It was a fun, casual sort of affair.

"But you know how these sorts of things go. He was a young Knight who needed to establish a reputation, so he was out in the field most of the time. With my master being in such high demand, we were rarely around either. Before I knew it, a year had passed. Our little affair had survived through messages and meeting together whenever we could manage, and had turned into a real friendship.

"So a little after my nineteenth birthday, he was assigned to shepherd me on one of my first forays into the field without my master. It was a simple assignment: to pick up a group of children identified for Jedi training and bring them back to Coruscant. We took a small passenger ship to the pickup point in the Mid-Rim, which ran close to the Unknown Region."

Obi-Wan stopped. The details swarmed in his mind, clamoring and chaotic, but he clamped down on his rising anxiety. Mal gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. _He's a Jedi. He'll understand_, Obi-Wan thought, fighting to calm his pounding heart. Everything was hyper-vivid in his mind's eye, from the particles of dust gathered in the corners of the control panels on their old ship to the nearly imperceptible whine of the hyperdrive that they didn't register until it was too late.

"On our way back, we were ambushed by pirates. They had some sort of gravitational generator that was strong enough to knock our ship out of hyperspace. They used weaponized spider droids to dismantle the shielding on the ship, and were beginning to board through two of the airlocks.

"The children- there were about twelve of them, the oldest being four- were in the cabins and sleeping under Force Suggestion, so they were safe for the time being. They were coming in from both ends, so we had no choice but to split up. He ran towards the back to stop the heavier attack. I downed three droids and took a shot here in the hip from a fourth that I barely managed to fight off, so by the time I made it to the back to help him, I wasn't going to be of much use.

"When I saw him at the end of the corridor, he was heavily overwhelmed. There must have been ten of them at least. I was making my way to him, but slowly. I could barely stand at that point. He saw me, and the look in his eyes was something I had never seen in him before. He knew that it was just him between these pirates and the lives of those children, and that he was damned if they were going to get past the last set of blast doors.

"It happened so quickly. I saw what he was going to do, and I tried to reach him, but he had already engaged the door. He tried to push me back with the Force, but a bolt hit him and the push fell short, so I stumbled and my hand fell on the lower half of the closing door."

He was shaking now. The memory, embedded forever in the Unifying Force, pulled at him, threatening to tear his insides apart as the deathly cold vacuum of space closed around him, Kru, the children, and Mal—whose warm, strong hands were kneading his neck and easing him into an embrace. His story tumbled out of him on its own momentum, lost as he always was in these instances.

"They fell on him like a pack of wild animals, but I saw him hit the button on the airlock before he was down. There was a huge rush of air that sucked my hand the rest of the way into the door before it sealed, and through that crack, I saw all of them pulled out into space before it closed on my hand.

"I don't remember the pain. I was in too much shock from what had happened to really register what was happening, I think. There was no salvaging my hand. It was completely crushed, but I was bleeding a lot and we were dead meat floating out in space like that, so I cut off the rest with my saber to free myself and cauterize the wound. By some miracle, the hyperdrive was still functional and I engaged the autopilot.

"The next thing I remember was waking up in the Healer's Ward a week later," Obi-Wan finished, feeling empty and numb. "The children don't remember any of it."

He slowly realized he laying on the bed with his face pressed into Mal's hip, and that the younger padawan was lightly stroking his hair as he had the previous night. The gesture had the same soothing affect as before, helping to ease his breathing and his spirits.

Mal let him stay like that for a long time, awkwardly half-draped over the him, until the memory retreated and he could sit up.

"We should postpone the sparring lesson until tomorrow," Mal said finally.

"To say the least," he snorted, then yawned. "Thanks for listening. I can't believe how much that took out of me."

He was surprised at how drained he was, and yet, much calmer. The Force was quiet now, buoying him in a comforting sense of balance that he had not realized he was missing. Obi-Wan was content in the Moment.

Mal smiled. "Thank you for sharing with me. We live hard lives, sometimes more difficult than usual. It must be painful when you remember it."

"What do you mean?" Obi-Wan asked sleepily.

"I mean having the memory of a traumatic event to relive. It must be awful."

Obi-Wan frowned. "And you don't?"

"You know how I was abducted and ended up on Baltimn. Master Xanatos told me it was included in Master Jinn's story."

"He did mention something, yes. You mean you don't remember any of what happened to you?"

"No, thank the Force. And I don't want to. I'd be pretty fucked up about it, I'm sure."

"I definitely do not recommend getting fucked up about things," Obi-Wan agreed, stretching back out on his mattress. "I've had enough of past trauma. How about some more kissing?"

They lay together without speaking in Obi-Wan's small bed, content to doze in each other's arms. Occasionally, one of them would break the stillness with a sigh, or by pressing a kiss into whatever part of the other was closest. One thing Obi-Wan missed about having a new lover was discovering all of their likes and dislikes in bed. It was exhilarating to slip his hands beneath the rough brown tunics to feel the soft, balmy skin underneath. He loved to map a new body and find all the little erogenous zones that were so different from his own. In addition to the sensitive skin at the base of his horns, Mal had a spot behind his ear that, when Obi-Wan kissed and licked it, made his eyes flutter shut and a lazy smile appear on his lips.

For his part, Mal's hands never stopped their meandering exploration of Obi-Wan's shoulders, down delicate skin of his inner arms to his hips, and up his belly until he was disheveled and tingling with arousal. Obi-Wan had no complaints. It was nothing short of bliss to be touched like this again. Each feather-light pass woke new nerve endings, making him shiver down to his toes.

Obi-Wan liked this part with new lovers the most. The newfound closeness had yet to settle into familiarity or even true intimacy. Now was the time for both of them to simply bask in the rediscovered joy of another's skin.

They were lying on their sides, face to face. Mal hummed in appreciation with each pass Obi-Wan finger along his horns. This time, he caught the string of blue padawan beads lying in sharp contrast against Mal's neck, tracing the elegant line and letting it fall through his fingers like water.

Still feeling muzzy from the dozing and petting, Obi-Wan broached a subject that had been sitting in the back of his thoughts all afternoon.

"I wish you had told me you were a virgin," he said.

Mal sat up with a jolt. "Is it that obvious?"

The other padawan was immediately tense. _Stupid!_ Obi-Wan mentally kicked himself for his poor wording. Newfound balance or no, Mal always made him forget all the diplomacy his years of training had taught him.

"Not at first, no," he said. "I just wish I had known."

"Why does it matter? Was I awful?"

"Hey," he sat up and cupped Mal's face in his hands so that the younger man had no choice but to face him. Obi-Wan lowered his shields, gently nudging Mal's until they too lowered minutely. He seized the opportunity to send Mal all his remorse, desire, and gratitude. "Last night was great, and it matters because you deserve better than a quick hump on a stack of mats."

Mal blushed. "It wasn't as bad as all that-not that I have any point of reference."

Obi-Wan kissed him, softly at first as they had early, and then with more urgency until they were pressed hotly together. "It'll be better next time."

"I like this next time business," Mal mumbled into his mouth. "I hope it happens soon."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "It can happen right now if you want."

"I want."

_Never let it be said that Mal Farol is not resilient_, Obi-Wan thought. He would have said it out loud, if his mouth and most of his brain wasn't preoccupied with the other padawan's insistent tongue. In truth, his own libido was rising eagerly to the challenge. He wanted sex, not more of the slow, careful seduction they had been doing so far. He needed a good fucking, finally, and now was hugely preferable to later.

Mal seemed to agree, if the way he was fumbling at Obi-Wan's tunic was any indication. He may have been new to this, but he certainly didn't lack enthusiasm. They were so rumpled from their earlier explorations that it was easier just to pull the whole mess off over their heads and toss them onto the floor.

Their boots and leggings joined their tunics until they were sitting in only their unders. With a smile, Obi-Wan swung his leg over to straddle Mal's thighs, enjoying the view beneath him. Mal was broad and muscular and thoroughly masculine, but it was his expression that excited Obi-Wan. Mal's face was flushed and expectant. He looked so young, though Obi-Wan knew that was no marker for experience.

This is perhaps the last bit of innocence Mad had, and he chose to give it to Obi-Wan.

He had always been the less experienced one, more shy and willing to be positioned and taught. The realization that he was Mal's first was exhilarating, and yet Obi-Wan felt a twinge of guilt that he had lost control last night and had finished them both off too quickly. Their first time together had been shy and then desperate, tinged with their separate insecurity and fear of what was lurking in the future.

Half-hidden as he had been in the darkness and streaks of pale light in the meditation room, Mal had seemed so much bigger, older, and more intimidating—or at least that was what Obi-Wan wanted to believe. He had wanted to be swept up again by someone worldly and dashing, but instead found someone much like him.

"Obi-Wan?" Mal's hands settled lightly on his thighs. "Are you all right?"

"I'm great," he replied, capturing one hand to press a kiss into its palm. He found he hated to see that worried expression flit across Mal's features and wanted to banish it as quickly as possible.

Obi-Wan rolled easily back on his side and covered Mal's mouth with his. In an instant, their arms were around each other. There was nothing soft or shy about their kisses this time. Instead, they grew increasingly heated with each passing moment until, with limbs entwined, Obi-Wan's senses were filled to bursting with the smell, the taste, and the sound of his lover.

When his arm snaked between them to take Mal's hand, he noticed that it was trembling. He brought to up to his mouth and latched on to the sensitive spot where his thumb and wrist met.

Mal let out a gasp that made his whole body convulse. "I don't know why I'm so nervous," he whispered.

"It's okay," Obi-Wan soothed, between light nips and kisses along Mal's wrist. "It's normal. It'll be easier if I'm on top."

"Oh," Mal's pulse quickened beneath his lips. "Okay. Just-just go slow."

Obi-Wan smiled. "Well of course I will, it's not like-" He paused at Mal's barely-concealed trepidation, and then chuckled gently. "No, I mean if I sit on top of you when you're in me."

"Oh," realization dawned. "I thought you meant...Okay."

He really was adorable when he was flustered. Obi-Wan ran his tongue along that sensitive spot behind Mal's ear, making his breath catch.

"Good, because I can't wait to feel your cock in me," Obi-Wan punctuated his statement with a delicious thrust that brought his straining erection firmly against Mal's. He felt the other padawan's groan reverberate down through his chest. His cock leapt as if fighting to escape its confines.

In one swift motion, Obi-Wan pushed his unders down past his ankles and rolled onto his stomach. A bottle of lotion flew into his hand with a touch of the Force, which he handed to Mal. "Here."

Mal knelt between Obi-Wan's thighs, bottle in hand. "I don't know what to do."

"Use your fingers. Go slow."

Obi-Wan heard the bottle cap open, and then close, and felt Mal's weight shift behind him. The anticipation was making his cock throb almost painfully, but he managed to not grind into the sheets. Fingers, cool and wet, touched him ever so lightly between his cheeks. Though he wanted nothing more than for Mal to plunge into him and fuck him into the mattress, he knew that going slow was for the best.

"Harder," he hissed in encouragement, lifting his hips up off the bed to provide better access as well as to hold onto his last shreds of self control. Sweat pooled at the backs of his knees and between his shoulder blades.

Mal began circling his opening, exciting the sensitive tissue. By the tiniest increments, he eased in the tip of one finger, rocking it in and out of Obi-Wan's body until he was taut as a bowstring. It felt incredible and erotic and wonderful, but it wasn't nearly enough.

"More," he panted, pushing himself back onto Mal's hand until it was buried as deeply as it could go. "Use two fingers."

"Like this?" There was now a hint of joy in Mal's voice as he saw the affect he had on Obi-Wan. He slowly withdrew his hand, much to Obi-Wan's protest, before another finger joined the first, and Obi-Wan felt the first real stretch of penetration. He groaned loudly, clenching the pillow to him and biting down hard on his lip in attempt to hold onto the last of his fading composure.

He felt hot breath and hotter lips graze his coccyx, making him moan. "You look amazing, do you know that?" Mal murmured into his skin, following it with an experimental twist of his fingers that grazed him _just there_.

A rush of sensation crashed into him, surging up his spine and sparking out any thought he may have had left. With a growl, Obi-Wan pushed Mal onto his back. He scrambled on top of him and reached behind to position Mal at his slicked opening. He was significantly thicker than his two fingers. Obi-Wan shuddered in anticipating, feeling Mal's pulse throbbing hotly in his hand. "Force, Mal," he whispered.

Their shields were still lowered just a crack, and for reasons that Obi-Wan could not begin to explain, he reached further into Mal. Surprisingly, Mal not only allowed the intrusion, but extended his own awareness into Obi-Wan, easing in as slowly and steadily Obi-Wan's body accepted Mal's.

When he was firmly settled on Mal's lap, he let out a sigh, feeling long-forgotten synapses reconnecting. He clenched reflexively around Mal's girth, eliciting a gasp from them both. He focused on the stretch and the fullness, willing his body to relax. He could feel the tension in Mal's thighs and stomach that belied his struggle to hold still and not hurt him.

Obi-Wan ran his palm over the slick chest beneath him. "Hey, you okay?"

Mal looked at him with darkened eyes, managing a nod. "Are you?" he rasped.

"Yeah." To demonstrate, Obi-Wan tugged at Mal's legs until he brought his knees up. Obi-Wan shifted his weight and groan as Mal slid out of him a little. Then he began to rock his hips. He was a little rusty with the movement, but soon found a rhythm and angle that made him see stars with each rise and fall of his hips, letting his weight pull him firming down with a frenetic whap, whap, whap. Mal's cock stretched him just to this side of pain, and in the back of his mind he knew he should be gentler on his body, but the feel of it inside him sent liquid fire pulsing under his skin and all he wanted was more, more.

Everything else faded away as his focus honed in tightly on his growing desperation. There was nothing but Mal's turgid flesh in his ass, the exquisite ache in his cock and balls, the heat and the sweat. Mal surged upward with an agonized groan, driving himself deep into Obi-Wan and making him pitch forward. This time there was no sign of restraint or caution; wet tongues and teeth and lips collided and yielded to the pounding that drove Obi-Wan tumbling down into Mal's eager mouth.

The tenuous link between them seemed to latch onto something primal buried deep in the brain stem, sending out tendrils and tentacles like an aggressive vine, fusing them together in mind as well as body. Obi-Wan felt every neuron firing between them, every heartbeat magnified and echoed until he thought he would explode.

It was too much. Blood boiled in his ears and all he could hear over the sound of his own escalating pulse was his pitched breathing—or he must have heard it, but mostly he felt his ribs heave and his throat burn. Each gasp was jolted out of him by Mal's thrusts, too short and colored with some needy sound that rose up from the pit of his stomach. He knew his eyes were open, but all he saw was a blur of light and flesh as his body and mind were buffeted by the onslaught.

When Obi-Wan thought he could stand it no longer, and he was sure little bits of him had already flown off in his frenzy, his orgasm swept through him with such force that his senses were consumed by sudden whiteness that blocked out all sight and sound. For a moment that felt like an eon, all he knew was the endless seizing of his body and the flood pounding into him from Mal's own release. It was a star going super nova. It was everything and nothing shrinking and expanding in the core of his chest like the birth of the universe. It was the pure Force surging through every pore on his body until he was filled to bursting.

He must have screamed. All Obi-Wan knew was that when he came back to himself, he was somehow slumped against the wall with Mal trapped beneath him in a gasping heap.

He managed to slide onto the bed without falling, something he considered a minor miracle given the trembling in his legs. He laid half on top of Mal, panting heavily and relishing the last fading flashes of orgasm. At last, he rolled to one side so that they were barely touching to let the air cool them.

Mal hadn't moved. With his eyes half-closed, his fingers reached out to entwine with Obi-Wan's. "Wow," he breathed.

Obi-Wan laughed weakly. "Yeah."

He was cooling, but every part of him felt melted into the bed. A shower and dinner could wait until after a nap. Mal seemed to agree, judging from the way the rise and fall of his chest had slowed to a soft, steady rhythm.

"We need to talk," Obi-Wan said.

"Yeah."

He yawned. "Later."

Obi-Wan's mind felt fuzzy and raw, not surprising since he had never lowered his shields during sex before. He felt the faint tickle of a thought that wasn't his, heavy with fatigue and satisfaction, but too quiet to fully register.

/Mind your shielding/ he sent.

The tickle subsided. /You too./

Obi-Wan smiled and readjusted his shields. The whispers faded, but the fuzziness remained. He'd give it some time. His mind needed to recollect itself as much as his body. If Garen was around, he'd never hear the end of it, which he didn't really mind actually.

Sleep crept over them. Beneath their perfect stillness lay their beating pulses; blood coursed through their veins, gently heating their bodies, lulling each other into sleep, comforted in each other's presence and pulling them back toward each other until at last they laid entwined in Obi-Wan's small bed.


End file.
